


Big Bad & Little Red

by Hysteric_for_Sterek (Princess_Rachy)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, First Kiss, Getting Together, Humor, M/M, Magic, Secret Crush, Slow Build, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, WereCoyote, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-23 23:30:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 40,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9687152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Rachy/pseuds/Hysteric_for_Sterek
Summary: "If anyone had told Stiles a year ago that he'd be where he currently was, doing what he was currently doing, for the reason he was currently doing it, he'd have laughed in their face and pointed them in the direction of Eichen House."ORThe one where Stiles obtains a tube of magic cream from a hippy-witch to help conceal his feelings from a certain sour wolf.





	1. Hippy Witch

If anyone had told Stiles a year ago that he'd be where he currently was, doing what he was currently doing, for the reason he was currently doing it, he'd have laughed in their face and pointed them in the direction of Eichen House. Actually, if anyone had told him werewolves were real a year ago, he'd probably have done the same thing, so that just goes to show how open-minded he'd become. So open-minded that it's possible his mind had fallen out and gotten lost in the process. Which could explain why he was currently sitting cross-legged on a yoga mat in the middle of a cave, listening to a 75 year old woman with dreadlocks chanting softly in a foreign language while waving an incense stick in the air that smelled like feet and lavender.

But if anyone knew the meaning of the phrase "desperate times call for desperate measures", it was Stiles.

He gave his head a small shake to try to re-focus on clearing his mind, eyes still shut, back straight with his hands resting on his knees. He tried to ignore the way his foot had gone to sleep and the drop of cave water that had just landed on his shoulder. At least, he assumed it was cave water. Maybe he should crack an eye open just to be sure…

"Close your eyes!" The old woman interrupted her chanting to snap at him as soon as his eye started peeking. The alarming thing was that, in the small glimpse he'd managed, he'd seen she was currently facing the cave wall away from him. _Crazy psychic voodoo lady_. Although Stiles figured that at least meant she had some sort of supernatural/psychic-type abilities and wasn't just a crazy, homeless cavewoman, which was somewhat of a relief.

He'd been advised to come see her by an emissary he'd found online. Stiles had done so much supernatural researching by now that he was even a member of a secret online community of people and supernatural creatures alike that shared information and helped each other out with all the ridiculous problems they seemed to constantly be facing. Stiles still wasn't sure if it was comforting knowing there were other people out there like him dealing with all the supernatural secrets in the world, or if it was downright depressing and terrifying hearing other people describing incredibly terrible creatures he'd never even heard of yet. Still, he'd found a friend in a young emissary named Sam who lived with a pack of werewolves in Washington and they often stayed up late at night chatting about all sorts of things. They shared an interest in online gaming too, so when they weren't talking about real monsters, they were teaming up to battle the virtual kind. It hadn't taken very long before Stiles had told Sam about his friends, his pack, his life. And when he'd asked Sam for his advice on a particularly delicate situation Stiles had that he couldn't have asked anyone else in his life, Sam had understood and tried to help him by sending him out into the middle of nowhere to seek the help of this old hippy witch.

And that was why Stiles found himself in the stupid leaky cave right then. In fact, it was only just dawning on him now that no one else other than Sam even knew he was there right now. And no one else in his life even knew that Sam existed. Not even Scott. So if this crazy woman decided she'd had enough of his fidgeting and lack of meditation-skills and decided to kill him, he's pretty sure no one would ever find his body out here. Great, and now his brain had another thing to start worrying about.

But the main worry Stiles had right then was the reason he was even doing this in the first place and it trumped all the other worries. You see, it all started with a dream. A _stupid_ dream that Stiles was _so_ mad at his subconscious for. Before he'd had the dream, Stiles had just been going about his life, minding his own business, saving his friends from supernatural monsters, occasionally getting thrown around like a werewolf's chew-toy because he was the only human in a pack of teenagers that didn't know their own strength, doing all the hard leg-work and tedious research on magical creatures that no one ever seemed to thank him for and generally just being under-appreciated – you know, the usual. And part of his being under-appreciated as the self-appointed mastermind behind his pack's success meant that Scott was constantly ditching him for Allison and Isaac, Lydia was still pretending he didn't exist until she needed something, Jackson insisted on being extra brutal in Lacrosse just for shits and giggles, and Derek liked to shove him up against hard surfaces to regularly show him how much he didn't care for Stiles' hilarious sense of humor and remind him just how much of a fragile and _human_ liability he was. But even through all of that, Stiles didn't really even mind. They were his friends, his pack, and saving and helping each other is what they did. The real trouble only started when his subconscious decided to have a sexy dream…

About _Derek_.

Yep, that's right. All that being shoved into lockers and walls and car doors suddenly wasn't a sign of aggression or annoyance anymore. According to his dream, it was a sign of _want_. Instead of fisting his shirt in his hand, glaring at growling at Stiles until Derek felt the younger boy was sufficiently scared of him (like he did in real life), dream-Derek pushed him up against something and then followed it up with his own body, pressing his hard muscles against Stiles until he whimpered, then grazing his teeth across his neck and sucking at the hollow of his throat. It was _hot_. Stiles had woken up so flustered and Little Stiles was more alert than he'd ever been. Stiles had tried to shake it off as just being a crazy reaction to an even crazier dream, that it didn't _mean_ anything. But it hadn't stopped there. There had been other dreams after that, each one just as sexy and intense, until Stiles found himself picturing Derek when he was awake and in the shower. And eventually he'd stopped being alarmed about it and had to admit defeat by accepting that he was attracted to Derek. He _knew_ it would never actually go anywhere in real life and it wasn't that he had _feelings_ for the big, bad wolf - it was just pure and simple sexual desire on account of Derek was smokin' hot. And Stiles could handle that, he thought.

It wasn't until a few days later, when Scott and Stiles were in Economics, their last class of the day, and Scott nudged his shoulder to ask if he wanted to stop by Derek's with him after school for training. Stiles had shrugged his shoulder in response, ignoring the sudden flutter he felt at hearing Derek's name and pretending he was concentrating on what Finstock was trying to teach them. But Scott hadn't ignored the sudden increase in his heartbeat. Stiles saw this best friend frown in confusion and the realization hit him. _Werewolves can hear heartbeats. Werewolves can tell when you're lying. Werewolves can sense arousal and attraction._ Wanting to sex Derek up could never be a simple fantasy that would only stay in Stiles' brain for no one else to ever know about. He wanted to slap his forehead for being so dense. After that, it was all Stiles could do to get the hell out of that school as soon as the bell went, going straight home to lock his bedroom window against any potential wolfy-visitors. He's not proud to admit that he panicked more than slightly when he thought about what would happen if Derek discovered Stiles had sexy thoughts about him. You would think that the threat of a scary alpha werewolf tearing you to shreds for thinking sexy thoughts about him when you were supposed to be feeling scared and submissive would be enough to make you do just that – _feel scared and submissive_ – but apparently not. And Stiles didn't want to risk that. So he'd called and drilled Scott for information on just how much of ones emotions could be sniffed out by werewolves, using hypothetical questions and typical distraction techniques when Scott got too inquisitive about why Stiles was interrogating him on such matters. And when Scott had confirmed his suspicions that he was well and truly _screwed_ (and not by Derek in the literal sense, unfortunately), he had turned to Sam on a quest to find some way of controlling one's emotional scents in front of beings that could otherwise detect them.

So now he was here. In this stupid, stinky cave. Trying to _meditate_ so this whack-a-doodle in front of him could teach him how to "control his aura". But the restlessness was getting too much now. He was never going to "access the calm state of relaxation and meditation" even if he stayed here all day. And he had homework to do and lunch to eat, so that just wasn't going to happen.

"This isn't working," he stated flatly, not even caring when the old witch glared at him as he opened his eyes and stretched out his legs in front of him, willing the pins & needles in his foot to go away.

"Do you always give up so eagerly?" She spat at him, as she set the incense stick down in a weird holder shaped like a skunk (which Stiles felt was actually quite fitting).

"I've been here for ages!" Stiles whined. "I'm just not a meditation kind of guy. Isn't there something else we can try? Some sort of magic pill you could give me? Or a spell you could put on me?"

"I am not a witch," she told him, face completely unamused. ( _Huh…_ Stiles had just assumed she was.) "And there is no cheater's way to controlling your inner emotions and state of self." Stiles slumped slightly. "The only way to learn is to practice."

"I can't practice sitting still for longer than 2 minutes before my ADHD kicks in, even with my medication," he tells her honestly. Plus, he really didn't have the time to practice even if he wanted to. His predicament was rather time sensitive. There was only so long he would be able to dodge and avoid seeing a certain sour wolf before he'd inevitably have to face him. And he'd rather not do that with a hard-on.

"You have an attention disorder?" She asked, her wrinkled face getting even wrinklier as she frowned at him. He nodded. "Well then no wonder this isn't working! Even _I_ don't have the patience or time to teach someone like you," she sighed exasperatedly and Stiles tried not to be offended. "OK fine, we can try something else."

Stiles brightened at that, but then frowned. "You just said there were no other options."

"I lied. You kids are always so quick to jump to the easy, temporary solutions. No one cares enough to try harder anymore," she looked away almost wistfully and Stiles had to pinch the bridge of his nose to contain his frustrations as he realized he'd been sitting on a cold, hard cave floor with a wet patch of dirty cave-water forming on his shoulder and a disgusting fog tickling the inside of his nose for the last two hours for absolutely no reason.

"I can give you an ointment," she continued, turning to rummage in an old brass chest in the corner, "but it has its limitations. If you'd been able to meditate and learn to control your own heartbeat and emotional strings, you would have had complete control over yourself and how much of yourself you let others see. But in your case, I suppose this will have to do."

Stiles watched as she emerged from the chest with a small white tube, holding it up against the stream of light coming in through the small cave opening, inspecting it closely. Stiles slowly stood up, stretching his muscles out now that his foot had come back to life.

"What do I do with it?" he asked.

"You only need a pea-sized amount," she stressed, eyes boring into his own to make sure he was listening carefully. "Rub it on the base of your neck in a clockwise motion. Take note of the time that you put it on your skin, as the effects will only last three hours." She placed the tube in his hand and turned to walk away as if dismissing him. But Stiles had so many more questions.

"What will it do? And what happens after 3 hours?"

She turned back to him with an exasperated eye-roll. "What is it with your generation and the constant questions, always needing the specifics. There's nothing wrong with a little mystery in these sorts of things."

"Uh… I strongly disagree. I have more than enough mystery in my life right now thanks. I need to know specifics. I _live_ for the specifics." Stiles briefly wondered if this woman was somehow related to Deaton. Or if most supernatural experts were just purposefully vague for their own personal kicks.

She grumbled under her breath a bit as she tidied the rest of her things back into the chest, before answering. "It will mask your aura," she told him, then huffed when he just raised his eyebrows at her in a way that clearly said he was waiting for more. "No supernatural being in your vicinity will be able to hear your heartbeat or smell your scent. Not the scent of your skin, _or_ the scent of your emotions. For three hours. After the three hours, the effects will begin to wear off, with your most prominent scents and emotions being the first to start showing again. If you want it to last longer than that, you will have to re-apply. But remember, _small_ amount in a _clockwise_ direction."

Stiles nodded slowly, gripping the tube tightly in his hand. He thanked the woman because, even though this wasn't the most ideal solution to his problems and his mind was already whirring with how he was going to make this work, he was still grateful that it was much better than the alternative of _no solution_ to his problems. He turned to leave before realizing the woman didn't ask for any sort of payment for this, so he turned back around to ask what the catch was, but was startled to find her gone. The chest and the yoga mat and her other belongings were all still there, but the old lady had vanished. So he shrugged and got the heck out of that creepy cave as fast as he could.


	2. Walking Dead

By the time Stiles had trekked through the woods to his trusty Jeep and then driven back to Beacon Hills and finally arrived at his house, he was exhausted. Both mentally and physically. Getting up at the crack of dawn, driving 4 towns over, hiking through dense, unfamiliar woods looking for a hidden cave with nothing but a print-out from Google Maps (thanks Sam), then attempting to sit still for nearly two hours before having to hike it back out of the woods and driving home, was tiring. Worrying first about having an alibi for both Scott and his Dad for being gone most of Saturday, then worrying about getting lost in the woods followed by the possibility of the eerie witch-lady murdering him, then worrying about using the small tube of cream in his pocket and the consequences of it, was mentally draining. So it was no surprise he went straight up to his room and flopped face-first onto his bed.

He thought about taking a short nap, but his brain was still overflowing with questions. What if the ointment doesn't work? What if he's allergic to it? How will he know if it's working? What happens if he puts on too much? What if he accidentally rubs it counter-clockwise? What if –

His thoughts were cut off by his phone buzzing and he rolled over on the bed to retrieve it from his pocket and check the screen.

**FROM: SCOTTY-MAC**   
**We still on 4 Lacrosse training? Pick u up 2?**

_Urgh_ , he'd forgotten about that. He checked the time to find it was 1pm, which meant no time for a nap. _Double urgh_. He quickly typed out a reply and then headed downstairs to make himself some lunch.

**TO: SCOTTY MAC**   
**OK, but I'm dying from exhaustion so I'm just going to be your cheer-leader instead.**

Scott's reply came through just as Stiles was stuffing a sandwich into his mouth.

**FROM: SCOTTY-MAC**   
**Bringin Isaac 2 then if ur gonna b a lazy ass.**

**TO: SCOTTY-MAC**   
**You can't even type out a message in proper English and you're calling ME lazy?**

Stiles finished his lunch, trudged back upstairs, had a shower, got all his lacrosse gear together and then started up his computer while he waited for Scott. He logged onto the chat forum hoping Sam would be online, but he wasn't. _Damn._ He was hoping he'd be there so he could ask him if he'd ever heard of this ointment before he tested it out. And to sarcastically thank him very much for his warning about what to expect from the scary hippy-witch.

He picked the tube up again and rolled it between his fingers. It was a basic white tube with no words or markings on it at all and Stiles wondered how the woman even knew it was the right ointment to give him. What if he put it on and turned into a frog or something? The 3 hour time-limit on it was already making him sound a little too much like Cinderella for his liking, he didn't think he could handle being a frog prince too.

He unscrewed the cap and sniffed the contents. Then he immediately wished he hadn't when that same scent of feet and lavender shot straight up his nostrils to his brain and he sneezed three times. He couldn't help but think that even if the cream didn't work it's magic by masking his arousal from Derek, the smell alone would be enough to put anyone off coming anywhere near him anyway. So he guessed it was worth a try. It wasn't like he was going to go through everything he went through this morning and _not_ use the stupid stuff anyway. He decided he'd test the effects on Scott and Isaac first and, seeing it was already nearly 2 o'clock, he took a deep breath and rubbed a small amount onto the back of his neck in a clockwise motion.

And…. Nothing.

He didn't feel any different. At all. The cream was cold. That was it.

Trying not to be disheartened, he slid the tube into the side of his Lacrosse bag and went back to browsing on his computer while he waited for Scott. Opening his emails, he discovered a few dirty spam ads had snuck through his junk mail filter. The porn images that briefly flashed across his screen as he deleted them absolutely did NOT make him think of Derek. Nope. He didn't think about what Derek would look like completely naked. Absolutely did not let himself entertain the idea of his stubbled chin brushing against the inside of Stiles' thighs, or what it would taste like if he traced the triskele tattoo on Derek's sweaty, muscular back with his tongue. No way.

But suddenly the sound of his phone ringing from on his bed broke him out of the thoughts he _wasn't_ having. Stiles used his legs to push off his desk and skid across to his bed on the computer chair to retrieve his phone.

"Yello?"

"Stiles. Wh- Where are you?" Scott's voice was hesitant.

"At home, waiting for you..?"

"Uhh… OK. We're outside…" Stiles tried to work out why Scott sounded so hesitant.

"On my way." He hung up, shut down his computer, flung his bag over his shoulder and headed downstairs quickly, shaking off the residual sexy-feelings he was never having. Once he opened his front door though, he pulled up immediately, taking a step back in alarm. Scott and Isaac were half-crouched on his porch, eyes glowing yellow as if to attack him.

"Wha-!? Woah! What's going on?" Stiles flailed, eyes wide.

The look of confusion on Scott's face would have been comical if it wasn't for the sharp claws that reminded Stiles of the constant out-of-control-werewolf threat his friends tended to always have going on. Eventually though, after glancing at Isaac, both of the boys blinked their eyes back to normal color and relaxed slightly.

"You- We- Your heart's not beating." Stiles didn't really have words to describe the look on Scott's face. The best he could come up with would be "confusion", "relief", "fear" and "shock". All mixed together between shaggy hair and a lopsided jaw.

Although, Stiles had to admit, his own face was probably contorting in a bunch of interesting (but still handsome, of course) ways right then. _Relief_ that the cream had worked – Derek would never have to know that Stiles wanted to lick him like a big, sexy popsicle! Followed immediately by _irritation_ at himself for not thinking sooner about the fact that he would appear to be some sort of ghost or zombie walking around without an audible heartbeat or any detectable emotions, so he could have come up with a plausible lie to explain it all away. _Panic_ was also definitely present due to the fact that the seconds were ticking by and Stiles still couldn't think of a single believable story to tell the two werewolves in front of them before they jumped to a crazy conclusion (like Stiles had been possessed by a demon for example, or that the thing in front of them was actually some sort of supernatural imposter or something) and decided to attack him or torture him instead of taking him out to play lacrosse.

"Um… yes, it may _appear_ that my heart isn't beating…" Stiles said, slowly raising his palms up like a criminal. "but, I can assure you it still is. You can feel my pulse if you want?" Stiles was relatively surprised that it was Isaac who cautiously scooted a bit closer to reach out and touch his wrist.

He nodded to Scott in confirmation before stating "he's alive."

Stiles couldn't help his eye roll. "Obviously. Look, can we get in the car and head to the field? I'll explain when we get there."

They looked skeptical, but obliged. Stiles now calculated he'd bought himself 12 minutes to come up with an excuse.

Xxx

12 minutes wasn't long enough. In no time at all, they were sitting on a bench at the edge of the field, Scott and Isaac both staring at him expectantly. Stiles heaved a sigh.

"Do I smell like something gross? Like feet & lavender?" he asked them.

"You don't normally smell _that_ bad. More like cheese puffs and guava," Isaac tells him matter-of-factly and Stiles wrinkles his nose in horror and offense. "But… I can't smell you at all right now actually," Isaac said, sniffing the air like a dog.

Unfortunately, Stiles could still smell the cream, even if no one else could. He didn't know whether to be glad he wouldn't be repulsing people, or annoyed that he would be repulsing himself.

"Well, thanks for _that_ Isaac. But no. I have a kind of… blocker on."

"A blocker?"

"Yes. I have discovered something that can block my scent and heartbeat from werewolves," he told them, and as he was talking, he suddenly thought of a _great_ explanation for this and relief flooded through him.

"Why?" Scott asked.

"How?" Isaac asked.

"Please hold all questions until the end of the presentation and raise your hands until I call on you," Stiles told them, obnoxiously. He was much more comfortable now that he knew what he was going to say.

" _Stiles_ ," Scott ground out in warning and he was using his glary face, so Stiles complied.

"I don't have impressive wolfy powers like the rest of you. I'm an easy target for all the terrifying monsters that come through this crazy town and now I have an advantage."

Isaac looked like he was starting to catch on, but Scott still looked more confused than a baby in a topless bar.

"You can't hear me or smell me. I can hide. I can sneak up on werewolves," Stiles said slowly, waiting for Scott to catch on to his great plan.

"Well…" Isaac made a face. "As long as you don't make any other noises, like tripping over your own feet, or sneezing, or –" Just then Stiles' stomach (the traitor) decided to speak up with a loud gurgling noise and Isaac looked at him pointedly.

Stiles narrowed his eyes at him, but eventually admitted he did have a point.

"Yeah, OK, I need a little ninja-training, but still. It's cool, right?"

"How are you doing it?" Scott asked him, and Stiles didn't really have a back-up lie for that one so decided to just tell them mostly the truth. He left out the part about being part of a secret online supernatural fight club though. And the part about the yoga-loving cave-witch that he went to see without telling anyone. He was pretty hazy on _how_ he came to be in possession of the magical werewolf-barrier-cream, but luckily for him, they didn't press the issue because Allison had called to see if Scott was free to see a movie and, you know, _clearly_ that was more important to Scott than his best friend becoming a stealthy ninja.


	3. Cinderella

The first thing Stiles did when he woke up on Sunday morning was drag himself to his desk and log on to send an email to Sam.

**TO: sam.**

**Dude,**

**Tell me, is there a** _**reason** _ **all druids are frustratingly vague and have a tendency to leave out very relevant and helpful pieces of information? For example, instead of saying "Stiles, I know of a woman who lives out near Dough Flat that may be able to fix your problem", you maybe could have said "Stiles, I know of a crazy, scary, old hippy-witch who lives in a dark, almost-impossible-to-find, dirty cave in the middle of werewolf-infested woods who will be able to torture you for two hours before giving you a stinky lotion that will make you suspiciously seem like a very alive dead person to werewolves, but only for a short amount of time before the coach turns back into a pumpkin and the were-prince discovers you have a glass-slipper-fetish."**

**Just something for you to think about and maybe work on for the future.**

**P.S. Thanks though. You rock.**

After that was done, Stiles took a long, hot shower and thought about what else he had to get done that day. A history essay he needed to finish, a maths test to study for and a new fishing rod he had to order online for his dad's birthday coming up. Stiles was glad to realize he didn't really have a reason to leave the comfort of his room for the whole day, so he happily pulled on a pair of sweat pants and didn't bother with combing his hair or pulling on a shirt. His Dad was working again and he decided to deem today a "lazy-Sunday" – after everything he'd been through lately, he deserved it.

But lazy-Sundays required the appropriate supplies, namely snacks, so he padded downstairs to fix himself some cereal for breakfast and load his arms up with enough chips and drinks to last him through his day of study and computer games, before heading back up to his room and kicking the door shut behind him. When he turned back around, he jumped in shock at the figure perched outside on his window ledge and one of his bags of chips tumbled to the ground.

Derek just looked pointedly and impatiently at him through the glass, glancing down at the lock and back up to him a couple of times until Stiles' brain began to catch back up. He dumped his armful of deliciousness onto his desk and then held up a finger to Derek in the universal sign of "wait one minute" before scampering away into his bathroom quickly.

_Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic_ , he repeated the mantra in his head while he rummaged around in the pockets of the clothes he'd discarded on the floor before his shower. He knew Derek was going to be pissed at being left locked outside like a dog, but he figured he'd be _more_ pissed if Stiles didn't get some of this magical cream onto his neck first and the stench of lust hit him like a freight-train when he opened the window. He also managed to feel proud of himself for remembering to actually _lock_ the window in the first place. Sure, Derek could have just broken his way in if he'd really wanted to, but Stiles had already had that talk with all his furry friends before. _Just because you_ can _break in, doesn't mean you_ should _break in._ So he'd brought it up at a pack meeting once and made the rule that if his bedroom window was locked, the werewolves could all ring the doorbell and wait at his front door like normal human beings. Once they'd all considered the consequences that ignoring this rule could lead to seeing Stiles naked, they'd all grimaced and agreed to his terms.

Stiles managed to find the small tube and quickly but carefully rubbed a small amount into the back of his neck. He then took a deep breath, said a silent prayer that it was working, sneezed as the horrible smell tickled his nose, and then walked back into his room to unlock the window.

Derek was giving him a death-glare and Stiles swallowed hard as he watched the man climb into the room.

"Sup Big Bad?" he asked him, trying hard to keep his eyes on the older man's face and not let them wander freely as flashbacks from his dreams started flicking through his brain. He'd had one that started like this, with Derek sneaking in through his window. Except he had a lot less clothes on in the dream…

Stiles' focus was immediately snapped back to reality when he suddenly found Derek's face pressed against the side of his neck, inhaling his skin. Stiles wasn't proud of the "meep" noise that made its way out of his lips without conscious thought, and his heart was hammering in his chest so loud that he had his doubts the cream was effective enough to block the sound. He's pretty sure even his non-werewolf neighbors could hear it. Stiles was also well-aware of his own shirtlessness right then and he tried to take a step back away from the alpha, but found the backs of his legs were already pressed up against the foot of his bed and he was essentially trapped.

"Uhh…" he cleared his throat. "whatchya doing there Big Guy?" He was aiming for nonchalant, but missed the mark when his voice came out a few octaves too high. Derek pulled his face back away from his neck, but didn't step back. His eyebrows were knit together in curiosity.

"Isaac told me about your new trick," he said. Stiles was trying his hardest to make himself look normal (or as normal as he usually looked at least) and not think about how close Derek was standing to him.

"And you thought that was an invitation to climb through my window and become my own personal space invader?" As soon as the words left Stiles' mouth, he regretted them, because they made Derek take a step back.

"I've never heard of anything like it before," Derek admitted with a shrug.

Stiles swallowed. "Is it still working then?"

"I can't hear your heartbeat or smell your scent. So unless you're dead, yes, it's working."

"Pretty sure I'm not dead," Stiles said with relief. He probably _would_ be dead, at the hands of the wolf in front of him, if not for the smelly cream on his neck.

Now that Derek had moved away, Stiles was free to manoeuvre himself around the bed and over to his closet to put a shirt on. He'd feel a little safer in a shirt.

"Where did you get it from?" Derek asked his back, as Stiles turned and started rummaging for a clean shirt in his pig-sty of a closet. He mentally added laundry to his list of chores to get done today.

"I know a guy…" Stiles said vaguely as he bent over to lift a grey t-shirt from the floor to his nose to give it the sniff-test - it didn't pass. He heard Derek huff at his insufficient answer and Stiles realized he was a bit of a hypocrite when it came to wanting straight answers out of Sam and Deaton, so he continued. "Remember last month how that rogue werewolf nearly killed you with that weird blue acid and I came to your rescue and totally saved your life by pouring salt water on the wound like the super-Stiles that I am?" Stiles didn't hear a reply, but assumed Derek was rolling his eyes or glaring at him, so continued without turning back around. "Well everyone was so caught up in fighting it and killing it afterwards that no one ever got around to asking me how I'd known to do that," - _or thank me for it_ , Stiles added in his head – "but I've been talking to a group of druids and supernatural specialists online and learning some new things."

He finally snatched up a clean shirt from where it was hiding right at the back of his closet floor and spun back around to face Derek, only to hesitate when he thought he caught the alpha's eyes possibly staring at his backside. Derek's gaze flicked back up to his face so quickly though that Stiles just blamed his over-active imagination and wishful thinking. Derek cleared his throat a little and turned away to go and perch on the edge of his desk as Stiles pulled the plain red shirt on over his head.

"How do you know you can trust these people?" Derek asked him. "How did you know it wasn't a trick? That the cream wouldn't kill you instead?" He sounded angry.

Stiles shrugged one shoulder. "He's never steered me wrong before. I like him, we're friends. You'd probably be dead right now if not for what he's taught me. I trust him."

Derek gave him a hard look. "You shouldn't trust so easily."

Stiles shook his head and put his hands on his hips. "You can't live your whole life never trusting anyone Derek. Just because one dog bites you, doesn't mean you should hate _all_ dogs."

Derek just stared back at him for a long moment and Stiles started getting fidgety under his gaze, not used to such deep conversation with the wolf. He wanted to bring the tension in the room back up to a more comfortable level (well, as comfortable as their tension level ever got, at least), but was drawing a blank on what to say.

"I don't like it," Derek stated firmly.

"What?"

"The cream. Not being able to smell you. I don't like it."

Stiles' mouth opened to say something, but he didn't know what. He didn't know what the look Derek was giving him meant, couldn't read the older man at all. This was _not_ what he'd been expecting when he'd let Derek in through the window. The alpha's usual visits were full of half-hearted threats, Stiles rambling, Derek's exasperated sighs and demanding Stiles find something out for him. Sure, their relationship had grown a lot over the last year and Stiles could now go hang out at Derek's apartment and watch movies or muck-around with the rest of the pack, and Derek was actively working on being a better alpha by learning to be more laid-back and… _nicer._ But miracles didn't happen overnight. This interaction with the wolf was _different_ and all too serious for Stiles' liking and the need to lighten the mood and deflect with jokes was overwhelming.

"Normally when people tell me they can smell me, it's a _bad_ thing," he said lightly, but Derek's expression didn't change, so naturally Stiles just kept talking to fill the awkward silence. "Just consider yourself lucky and enjoy the reprieve from what Isaac tells me is my scent of cheese puffs and guava, which I totally take offense to actually. The saleswoman at Target recommended the strawberry  & guava shower gel because of my sensitive skin. She said it was a faint, manly scent, not girly at all. And I don't eat _that_ many cheese puffs." Stiles' eyes briefly flicked to the desk Derek was leaning against, where he'd just set down two packets of cheese puffs, before he decided to just stop talking.

"I want to meet this _friend_ of yours," was Derek's straight-faced reply.

"What? Derek, don't be weird. You can't _meet_ him, _I've_ never even met him!" Stiles realized he probably shouldn't have admitted that when Derek's eyes flashed in anger so he kept talking quickly. "I mean, no harm's been done right? I have this cream now and it can help keep me safer! Werewolves won't be able to smell me or hear me coming! This is going to be useful for us!" He was waving his arms around too much while he spoke, trying desperately to distract Derek from being mad at him for basically trusting a supernatural stranger off the internet with his life.

It didn't work.

"Stiles! You _can't_ just go around trusting random people on the internet who tell you to try strange magic that no one knows anything about! And you definitely can't do it without even telling me! I swear, it's like you _forget_ you're intelligent sometimes! Or that you're _just a human_!" Derek was almost yelling and he'd gotten up from the desk to pace, but Stiles was getting mad now too and he shot back at him with a dangerously low voice.

"Trust me, I have _not_ forgotten I'm _just_ a human. I'm reminded of that fact every single day." His hands clenched in fists at his side.

Derek flinched slightly. "I didn't mean-"

" _No_. Do you think it's easy for me to stand by and watch evil things attack my friends, knowing I can't do anything to stop it? Do you think it's fun for me to be treated like a child or like I'm made of glass or like all I do is get in the way? If there's something I can actually do to _contribute_ to this pack, then I'm going to do it." Derek had stopped pacing and was just standing there, 2 feet in front of Stiles, staring at him. But instead of feeling intimidated, Stiles just kept on yelling. He needed to get this all out while he still had some courage. "I spend _hours_ every week studying things that might help save my friends one day, things that might make me less useless to you. And I don't even get any acknowledgement, let alone _thanks_ when what I've learnt saves someone, or eliminates a threat!" He stopped, breathing heavily now and quickly losing his burst of anger as suddenly as it had come on.

Derek didn't move or say anything for a long while. Stiles held his gaze for a few moments before eventually letting his eyes drop to the floor and running a hand over the back of his head, his fleeting moment of angry courage fading away. He didn't like fighting with Derek. It never really got them anywhere.

"Why do you have the cream on now?" Derek suddenly asked him and Stiles was surprised not only by his question, but by the fact that his voice wasn't angry anymore.

"What?"

"I could hear your heartbeat when I first got to your window."

Stiles hesitated. "Because I like feeling like I can have some privacy in my own emotions for a change," he finally told him. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth.

"I can't tell if you're lying," Derek said, his eyebrows coming together in a disapproving frown.

"Then maybe it's about time you started _trusting_ me."

 


	4. Deadly Were-Turtle

There weren't enough words in the English language to describe how much Stiles did _not_ want to get up for school on Monday morning. His lazy-Sunday hadn't turned out as he'd planned at all. After their strange conversation yesterday morning, Derek had climbed back out of the window and left Stiles with a bunch of new, frustrating questions circling in his head. He'd eventually finished his homework after constantly getting distracted by thoughts of Derek and his strange reactions to Stiles' comments, and had even remembered to do his laundry and order his dad's birthday present. He'd spent the rest of his time trying to watch a movie and when that failed, he'd tried reading a book. When _that_ failed, he'd logged back onto the supernatural chatroom looking for Sam, but he still wasn't online. He did have an email back from him though.

**FROM: sam-i-am**

**Dude,**

**Glad to hear your expedition was helpful! You should know by now not to question my methods and only to sit back and enjoy the rewards they present you with. Use that cream wisely! I've heard of it before, but I had no idea anyone still had any in existence. I was expecting Agatha to teach you control through meditation or something (much more her style), not give you one of the rarest forms of magic known to druids. Don't tell anyone else you have it, ok?**

**Good luck buddy, let me know how it goes.**

**Sam**

He'd tossed and turned all night long, barely getting any sleep and now he was somehow expected to get up and sit through an entire day of school, followed by Lacrosse practice. He groaned and threw his pillow over his face when his dad stuck his head around his door with an overly cheery "rise and shine son!" _No one_ should be that happy before 7am. Stiles made a mental note to hide his Dad's coffee supply and see how cheery he was then.

The school day went pretty much how Stiles had known it would. Jackson had hip-checked him into the side of a bin before he'd even made it through the front door. Then he'd had a surprise pop-quiz in maths, followed by a lunch break sitting across from a canoodling Scott and Allison. By the time he'd made it to practice after school, he was ready to either collapse in a pile of sobbing mess on the floor or run off into the woods screaming at the top of his lungs. It was only his indecision on which path to choose that had him still standing in the middle of the field, staring at the goals in front of him.

"Balinksi! Do you think you could move your ass into gear at _some_ point today?!" Coach Finstock wailed at him from the sidelines, making Stiles grumble under his breath before finally taking a shot at the goal. Danny blocked it fairly easily, but Stiles wasn't surprised and didn't care. At least it meant he could go and sit on the bench for a while now.

He turned and stomped over to the bench, removing his helmet as he did so. He was quite proud of himself for only hesitating for a fraction of a second when his eyes landed on a certain sour wolf sitting in the otherwise empty stands and staring at him from a hundred meters away. Stiles ignored him and took his seat on the bench, turning his back on Derek and reaching for his bag at the same time. He pulled out his drink bottle and took a sip as he tried to decide what to do. He knew he was far enough away and the wind was blowing in the wrong direction for Derek to be able to pick up any scents from him right now, but if the man decided to come any closer, he'd be able to smell the effect his presence was causing in Stiles. Even though he was still quite mad at Derek, just the sight of him had Stiles' skin prickling and stomach lurching in recognition of _want_. But he also knew that if he pulled the little tube out of his bag right now and rubbed some on his neck, Derek wouldn't be able to hear his heartbeat any more and instantly be able to tell he'd put the cream on for his benefit, which would no doubt lead to more questions.

 _Damn_ , he cursed in his head, taking another swig from his water bottle and trying to think fast. He could still feel Derek's eyes boring into the back of his head. _What was he even doing here?_ Stiles decided to pull the tube of magic ointment out of his bag and hold it in his hand, ready just in case. He tried to focus on his anger towards the wolf to cancel out any feelings of attraction.

 _Derek constantly underestimates you and uses you for research and favors. Derek only sees you as this nuisance, just a weak human that he has to protect all the time. He's never once thanked you for saving his life, which you've done on more than one occasion! Derek can be mean, even if he is mostly misunderstood. Derek is not attracted to you. He's way out of your league, with his smoking hot body and bedroom eyes and… no! Get back on topic_. _Derek is demanding and arrogant and an alpha werewolf who could kill you easily in half a second for crying out loud!_

Unfortunately, Stiles was concentrating so hard on trying to hate Derek that he didn't notice when the man had snuck up to sit right behind him. When he heard his voice, quiet and much closer to his ear than he was expecting, Stiles jumped a mile in the air.

"Stiles," was all he said. And his voice annoyingly made Stiles get goosebumps.

"What do you want now Derek?" Stiles sighed in annoyance, grip tightening on the tube in his hand as he feigned disinterest and watched Scott running across the field in front of him. "Need me to research a deadly were-turtle?"

Derek remained silent for a whole minute before answering.

"No. I…" Derek paused, and Stiles felt him lean forward. The hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention like they were trying to reach out and touch the man. He felt _really_ close to Stiles' neck now and the teen had to consciously force himself to keep taking breaths as steadily as he could. He wished that crazy hippy-witch had taught him meditation control after all. He also wished he could see Derek's facial expression because he had no idea what was going on right now. Then he heard Derek inhale deeply and Stiles panicked.

"What are you doing dude?! I know you're part dog, but you can't just go around sniffing people like that!" he hissed as he spun around to glare at a shocked-looking Derek.

"I'm sorry," Derek said quickly, pulling back to sit up straight.

"Sorry for sniffing me like some sort of creep just now, or sorry for any _one_ of the things that happened yesterday?" Stiles asked him, sharply. He didn't really mean to get so defensive with Derek, but he was freaking out (because Derek had just _purposely sniffed his neck_!) and once he started, it was hard to stop.

Derek didn't answer. He just gave him this pained expression and Stiles decided to unscrew the cap off the tube in his hand and rub a small amount of the cream into the back of his neck, never breaking eye contact with Derek as he did so. Once he was done, Derek's face fell a little and Stiles knew it was working.

Derek stood up then, his usual mask of blank moodiness back on his face, before he started walking away. Stiles just turned back around and looked out at the field. Isaac had just gotten the ball past Danny and into the goal and Scott was giving him a high-five, so he figured neither of them had been listening in to his and Derek's conversation. One look at Jackson staring right at him though, told him their exchange hadn't gone completely unnoticed.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles was laying on top of his bed, hours later, staring up at his ceiling. He'd just finished eating dinner with his Dad and had offered up an excuse of having heaps of homework to do, but it was a lie. He'd just wanted to be alone so he could try to process what was happening with him and what he was going to do about it. He couldn't help replaying today's exchange with Derek over and over again in his mind, trying to figure out what any of it meant. He was exhausted, but didn't think he'd be getting much sleep again tonight.

He was interrupted by a tapping noise and looked over to see Scott's puppy-dog eyes and goofy smile at his window. He sat up to unhook the latch and let his best friend in.

"You could have used the door," he told him. "My Dad's still awake watching TV."

"I know," Scott shrugged. "But this way I can stay as late as I want without your Dad coming up to kick me out at 9 o'clock and having to sneak back around through the window anyway. I'm saving myself the hassle."

"You're so lazy," Stiles told him.

"Whatever. What's going on?"

"Nothing."

"Magic cream's not working dude. I know that was a lie."

Stiles sighed. "Sometimes you could just let it slide, you know? No need to call me out on every little half-truth."

"Nah," Scott shook his head. "Where's the fun in that? C'mon, spill. You've been acting weird for weeks now."

"I have not!" Stiles feigned bewilderment but Scott just quirked an eyebrow as if he was bored of Stiles' theatrics.

"Let's see, you've been asking me weird questions about werewolves sensing emotions, you've been moody and grumpy, your heart's been skipping beats and beating faster at weird times, you disappeared for half a day and came back with a tube of magic lotion… shall I continue, or have I made my point?"

"You know, sometimes I like it better when you're too caught up in Allison to be observant," Stiles rolled his eyes sarcastically, then got serious. "I'm just not ready to talk about anything yet. Is that OK?"

"It's OK as long as _you're_ OK and there's nothing I _need_ to know," his best friend told him seriously, and Stiles started feeling guilty. Scott really was a great best friend. Stiles felt guilty at keeping things from him, guilty at getting jealous of the time Scott was spending with Allison and Isaac, guilty at getting annoyed at Scott for treating him like the rest of the pack did – like he was a weak human that needed protecting – even though he knew he kind of _was_ a weak human that needed protecting _._

And then he realized that guilt extended to Derek as well. Because even though he _did_ have a right to be angry at Derek for under-appreciating him and using him and making him feel like he wasn't a member of the pack sometimes, he knew it was Derek's way of protecting Stiles from getting hurt and he also knew how hard it was for Derek to let people in after what nearly every single person in Derek's life had done with his trust before. And it also wasn't Derek's fault that Stiles had developed this weird little crush on him and Stiles realized he'd kind of taken it out on the man like it was.

Stiles resisted the urge to groan and flop backwards onto his bed. Instead, he looked Scott in the eye and told him he'd be fine. He told him not to worry, that he'd fix things and good ol' Stiles would be back in no time. Then he gave him a grin and punched him in the shoulder. And Scott grinned back because he knew Stiles wasn't lying.


	5. Lifecycle of the Platypus

Stiles didn't suck up enough time or courage to go and see Derek until Thursday afternoon. But as soon as the last school bell went, he rubbed the ointment onto the back of his neck, jumped in his jeep and drove over to Derek's apartment. Stiles was glad Derek had moved into his new loft instead of skulking around that creepy, dilapidated house in the woods. He was sure that the longer Derek had stayed in the place his family died, the more the older wolf would have wallowed and drawn in on himself until he eventually drowned under the misplaced guilt he put on himself.

In the elevator ride up to the apartment, Stiles stared at his reflection in the mirror and took a deep breath to calm his nerves. This whole wanting-to-rip-his-alpha's-clothes-off thing was really starting to get annoying. He just wanted things to go back to the way they were before.

Which is why, when the elevator arrived and Stiles slid the massive door to the loft open, he strolled into Derek's living room like he'd done many times before, plastered a smile on his face and pretended everything was fine.

"Sup, Big Bad?" he called cheerily over to Derek who was sitting on a stool at his kitchen counter with a newspaper open in front of him. Derek didn't flinch or react to Stiles' presence and a moment of panic shot through him that maybe the cream wasn't working. How had he known Stiles was there if he couldn't hear his heartbeat or catch his scent? His mouth voiced the question before he'd consciously thought to. "How'd you know I was here?"

Derek just raised one of the furry caterpillars on his brow in a look that said "you're an idiot" before telling Stiles "I heard your jeep. _And_ the elevator moving. _And_ the doors opening. _And_ your footsteps. _And_ your breathing."

Stiles sighed. "I really need to work on my ninja skills."

"Or you could just stop trying to hide from me." Derek looked sullen, but Stiles was determined to get them back on the right track. Back to where Stiles would say hilarious things and Derek would pretend he didn't find him amusing and then Stiles would do something annoying and Derek would threaten him with bodily harm and Stiles would just grin at him and Derek would just growl and leave it be. That was how they communicated. They didn't have deep discussions or meaningful looks. And Stiles _definitely_ didn't have sexy thoughts about the man. That's what he missed and that's what he was determined to get back to.

"Whatever. Wanna go for a run?" Stiles knew Derek enjoyed running and that it always cheered him up when he was down. Stiles' own body, however, was _not_ made for running and he did _not_ enjoy exercising for fun like Derek did. Add that to the fact that Derek literally ran circles around him and got all sweaty and shirtless and teasing with showing off, Stiles was so relieved when Derek shook his head.

"I only just got back from one," the older man said, taking a long drink from the glass of water in front of him. Of course he did. Because not a hair was out of place and not a drop of sweat could be seen or smelt. Totally how Stiles also looked when he'd just returned from a run. _Not._ Stiles walked over to the couch and flopped down on it, kicking his feet up over the arm-rest, arms going under his head.

"Fine. What do you want to do then? Watch a movie? Oh! Let's play Monopoly!"

Derek turned around on the stool to face him.

"No. I want to talk," he said with a serious face.

"Well, you know I'm an _expert_ at talking sour wolf. But it's going to depend on the topic. I just finished reading 'The Girl On The Train', we could talk about that? Or how about the life-cycle of the Platypus? I found a great article online about it the other day and it was just fascinating. Did you know, the female platyp-"

"I already had a topic in mind," Derek growled, voice getting that usual hint of irritation at Stiles' babbling that it gave the younger boy a little hope that his plan was working and things were returning back to normal.

" _Oh_ , is it last night's episode of Glee? I know, right! I can't believe Kurt-"

" _Stiles_."

"OK, OK, fine. Killjoy. What did you want to talk about?"

"I… I want to talk about what happened on Monday. And Sunday. I've been thinking. About what you said." Stiles stiffened and took a deep breath in.

"We don't need to talk about that. Let's just forget it, OK?" Stiles didn't want Derek asking any more questions that he didn't want to answer. And he didn't want Derek getting mad at him again. He just wanted everything to go back to how it was before he'd had that stupid dream.

"Let me just say what I need to say Stiles," Derek's voice and face were more earnest than Stiles had ever known them to be and all he could do was nod reluctantly from his spot on the couch. Derek walked over to sit on the arm chair adjacent to him, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees.

"I… I'm sorry." Stiles just blinked at him. "I didn't know- I didn't realize that you thought those things. I- We all appreciate what you do for us Stiles," Derek looked like it pained him to say these things and avoided looking at Stiles' eyes. "When I said ' _just_ a human', I didn't mean it like that. I thought you knew- I thought you knew how important you are in this pack. But what you said made me realize that I never say it or show it and I'm going to try harder to be a better alpha." Derek swallowed before continuing. "I- You can't keep flinging yourself into danger as though you're invincible. You're part of this pack and you need to understand that we all protect each other. Where one of us is weak, the others are strong to cover it. Scott's weakness is Allison – when it's Allison that's in danger, we all step up to protect Scott because we all know that the distraction makes Scott a weaker fighter because he stops thinking clearly. Isaac's weakness is his self-confidence and when he's in trouble, we all have to support and encourage him enough to stand on his own two feet. Jackson's weakness is his rage – it controls him, consumes him, until he can't think clearly or make rational decisions and we all have to save him from doing stupid things. Stiles, you are the smartest of all of us and the _bravest_ of all of us, but your weakness is in your physical abilities when it comes to fighting against supernatural strength. You need to let us – your _pack_ – protect you from that and cover your weakness. Do you understand that? Do you understand what I'm saying and why I'm so hard on you sometimes?" Derek had been staring down at his own hands and avoiding Stiles' eyes when he started his speech, but now he was looking straight into Stiles' eyes with intensity.

"Yeah. I get it. And I'm sorry too… for even mentioning anything. I just want things to go back to normal," Stiles mumbled, feeling uncomfortable. He wasn't used to Derek even speaking that much, let alone the types of things he was actually saying. It was making him feel hot and he knew his cheeks were flushed.

Derek was looking at him intensely. His eyes boring into Stiles' face like he was looking for something.

"I need to know that you heard me, Stiles."

"I did."

"And that you _believe_ me."

Stiles hesitated for way too long before nodding.

"You're lying," Derek said it like a statement, but his face was twisted like he was asking a question. "Wash the cream off. I need to _know-"_

"No."

"Stiles-"

"No, Derek. You're right, OK? I am lying. I understand most of what you said, but I don't believe all of it. C'mon man, you just said I was the _bravest_ one in the pack - of course I don't believe you! I'm scared shitless almost 100% of the time!"

"I meant it. Yes, the rest of us all jump in to fight dangerous monsters, but we have healing abilities and super strength and claws and teeth. Stiles, you jump in with a _baseball bat_. And we all walk around _knowing_ where the monsters are lurking because we can hear them and smell them, but you walk around completely blind to it. We _know_ who to trust and when to believe something because we can tell when someone's lying and you have to learn to trust people based on instincts and your judge of character alone. Stiles, you _are_ the bravest person I know, whether you feel it or not."

When he finished, and the silence stretched on, Derek started looking back down at his hands and his face was flushed red in what Stiles assumed was embarrassment. It made him look so vulnerable and Stiles hated it. He hated that it was him that made _strong, alpha werewolf_ Derek look that way. And he hated that it made his stomach flip-flop and his heart ache in his chest. Especially after those words. Stiles felt… touched. And a surge of something… something he couldn't name but was _very_ glad the cream was masking.

Stiles sat up straighter and looked over at Derek.

"Thank you," he said quietly and sincerely, and Derek's eyes jumped up to meet his own. Stiles bit his lip. "I don't really know what to say to that. And I can't tell you I believe you, but… I can't tell you that I don't either."

The tension in the room seemed to clear a little as they sat there, looking at each other for several long moments. It was as if something important was said through their eyes, and they both understood it, but couldn't say what it was exactly.

Stiles' phone buzzed in his pocket, breaking the silence and the eye contact. Stiles cleared his throat and took it out to read the message.

**FROM: JACK-OFF  
Can you tell Derek to call me when you two are finished whatever it is you're doing? **

Another text came through immediately afterwards.

**FROM: JACK-OFF  
And NO, I do NOT want to know what that something is! **

Stiles' eyes grew wider.

"What is it?" Derek asked, alerted by Stiles' reaction.

"Nothing. Just Jackson. He wants you to call him."

Derek nodded, like he wasn't at all surprised that a) Jackson had texted Stiles, which was weird in itself, b) Jackson had known Stiles was with Derek and c) instead of just calling Derek, he'd asked Stiles to ask him to call?

He voiced his opinions on the matter to Derek. "Do you see how frustrating it is being me?" he asked lightly. "You all just _know_ what's going on and I'm constantly left running 10 steps behind and trying to catch up!"

Derek shrugged. "Jackson came by while we were talking. He must have realized you were here by your jeep outside and hearing me seemingly talking to myself. I guess he didn't want to interrupt."

Stiles rolled his eyes in exasperation and stood to head toward the bathroom while Derek placed his phone to his ear.

"And it just _had_ to be bloody Jackson," he grumbled.

 

* * *

 

After Stiles had returned from the bathroom (where he'd splashed his face with cold water and given himself a stern mental pep-talk) and Derek had called Jackson (who had reported he'd caught a strange werewolf's scent out on the far side of the lake whilst out on a run and Derek wasn't all that concerned and had told him they'd go and check it out later), Stiles and Derek had ended up watching a movie after all. It was only as the credits were rolling across the screen and Stiles was yawning that he looked over at the clock and panicked. His three hours were almost up. He was about to turn back into a pumpkin.

"OK, well great talking with you Der and that movie was great – actually no, it was pretty terrible – but anyhoo, I'd better get going!" He was overly cheerful and rushed to grab his jacket from where he'd flung it over the side of the couch.

"Wait," Derek said, moving between Stiles and his escape route.

"I'm late," Stiles told him, trying to move past him for the door. "For dinner. With my dad," he lied.

Derek didn't move to let him pass and just narrowed his eyes.

"Please, Derek? I have to go."

"I just need you to answer one question first," Derek said, voice low. Stiles tried not to think about how sexy Derek's voice sounded like that. The cream could wear off any minute now and he didn't want turned-on vibes to be the first scent to hit Derek's nose.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Why- what are you trying to hide from _me_ , specifically?"

Stiles blanched. "I'm not-" He stopped at the warning growl Derek emitted.

"I hate not being able to tell what you're feeling Stiles. We're pack. We're supposed to know these things about each other."

" _I_ don't get to know what everyone's feeling just by sniffing them!" Stiles threw back. "I don't know when you're lying to me, what's going through Jackson's head, or what Isaac's feeling. If I'm pack, and I don't get the inside knowledge, why should you get the inside knowledge on what I'm feeling? Maybe it will do you some good to walk in my shoes for a while. If you want to know what's going on with me you'll have to do what I have to do – pay attention and _ask_."

Derek didn't stop Stiles passing after that and it was only once Stiles was safely in his jeep, on the way home that he realized he'd just encouraged Derek to _"pay attention and ask"_. He slapped his forehead. _Stupid!_ That's the _last_ thing he wants the werewolf doing!


	6. Skippy Thing

Jackson was being weird.

The whole next day at school, not only did Jackson _not_ push him into anything, but when Stiles tripped on his own feet while walking to his locker after fourth period and went crashing down to the floor in front of him, Jackson didn't laugh or make fun of him. He didn't even _smirk_. Sure, he also hadn't helped him to his feet, but for Jackson, just not laughing alone was a huge pile of bizarre that Stiles had no idea what to do with.

**TO: Sour Wolf  
Jackson's being weird.**

**FROM: Sour Wolf  
Pot… Kettle.**

**To: Sour Wolf  
I'm going to ignore that comment. Did you say something to him?**

**FROM: Sour Wolf  
No. What's he done to you this time?**

**TO: Sour Wolf  
Nothing. That's the problem!**

**FROM: Sour Wolf  
I'll never understand you.**

Stiles had let a small laugh escape after reading the last message from Derek and Scott looked up from his lunch, eyebrow raised in question.

"Who are you texting?" he asked.

"No one," Stiles shrugged.

"Dude. Werewolf."

Stiles rolled his eyes at his best friend. "It's nothing, just don't worry about it."

"Your heart's doing that skippy thing again, and you smell like…" Scott didn't finish his sentence when Stiles shot him a look that specifically told him that if he did, he'd regret it. "Fine," Scott mumbled, looking a little hurt. Stiles tried not to feel guilty and changed the subject.

"Do you know what's up with Jackson?" he asked his friend instead.

"Uh… no? He seemed fine last night when we went out to track that omega in the woods. Why do you think something's up with him?"

"I dunno. He's being weird. Borderline nice to me."

Scott's eyebrows headed up in search of his hairline. "I'll keep an eye on him, but I haven't noticed anything weird."

Just then, Isaac plonked down next to Scott and they all started discussing their first Lacrosse game of the season that they had coming up the next night. Stiles was only half-listening to most of it because it wasn't as if he'd be playing anyway – he'd just be keeping the bench warm all night, as usual. That thought made his mind drift to what he'd _rather_ be keeping warm all night… namely a certain sexy werewolf… in his bed…

The sound of a throat clearing brought him back to the present and he found Scott and Isaac both looking at him with flushed faces.

"Dude. Could you put your magic cream on before you start fantasizing in front of us? You reek."

"There aren't really any excuses now that you've got that stuff," Isaac agreed with Scott.

Stiles only felt slightly embarrassed. "I don't want to waste it," he shrugged.

 

* * *

 

 

The big game came around all too quickly for Stiles' liking. He was standing in the locker room with Scott waiting for Coach to come in and give his typical, nonsensical speech and his best friend was filling him in on what they found out in the woods earlier in the day. Which was a big, fat pile of nothing.

"Derek's made up a schedule so we can take turns in checking the perimeter of the woods in case the omega comes back," Scott tells him quietly, not wanting to be overheard in the crowded room. "Jackson ran it at lunchtime and there was still no sign of him, but Derek's checking again tonight before our game."

"Does he think he'll be back?" Stiles asked him, worry starting to filter slowly into his mind.

Scott shook his head. "It's likely the omega just didn't realize it was pack territory and has moved on. Derek said he doubts he'll set foot in the woods again, but…" he hesitated.

"But…?"

"I dunno. He's acting a bit strange," Scott admitted.

"Derek? Strange how?"

"I dunno. This schedule he's designed seems a bit full-on for something he doesn't think is a threat. I'm supposed to be heading out to do a perimeter check after the game at midnight tonight and then he's got Isaac running it again at 3am. It seems a little excessive to me, like his words are saying one thing but his actions are saying the opposite."

"But you'd be able to tell if he was lying, right? When he said he doesn't expect the omega to return?"

"Yeah. His heartbeat was steady, he wasn't lying to us."

Stiles made a humming sound and then suddenly Coach Finstock was there, commanding their attention, and then they were all chanting and running out onto the field.

From the bench, Stiles watched and cheered for his team-mates. Scott had managed to score twice already and Jackson once, and Isaac was fast as lightning running around out there. He stood up and cheered along with the rest of the crowd as Danny blocked another ball from getting in the net. Stiles was actually enjoying himself tonight. Sure, he was stuck on the bench as usual, but he loved watching his friends' faces light up when they played a good game.

Suddenly though, there was a collision on the field when one of the other team's biggest players barrelled straight into an unsuspecting Isaac, sending the smaller boy flying. Stiles stood back up immediately, trying to see if his friend was OK. He knew he _was_ , logically, because he was a werewolf and could heal in seconds, but that didn't mean he didn't feel the pain of broken bones and bruises the same as humans did _before_ he started healing. And Stiles obviously didn't like seeing any of them in pain.

The accident must have looked particularly brutal to the coaches and referees because Isaac was escorted off the field and taken straight over to the medic. Stiles began worrying about what Isaac was going to tell them when he miraculously started healing and was completely fine in a few minutes time and he started to head in their direction to help out when he heard his name being bellowed by the coach.

"You're in!" Finstock shouted at him and motioned for Stiles to get on the field.

Stiles' mouth hung open. He was playing? _He was playing?!_ He felt sick. But he ran out onto the field anyway, a ball of nervous energy and anxiousness. He saw Scott grinning at him through his helmet and that gave him all the support he needed to focus on _kicking ass_. (Plus, he figured Scott's lack of concern for Isaac meant he knew the other boy was OK which was also good.)

For all the excitement and nerves buzzing through his veins, 20 minutes later he was disappointed he still hadn't actually touched the ball. But that was OK, he told himself, because at least it meant he wasn't screwing up. And he was still managing to do a good job at keeping up with his team mates and leaving himself open in preparation for a pass to him. Jackson and Scott were still dominating the field expertly and they were winning by 10 points. Stiles saw Scott give a little wave to the stands during a lull in play and followed his gaze up to where Allison and Lydia were cheering them on and he smiled.

But suddenly, Stiles felt someone's attention on him and his eyes roamed further left to land on Derek's and his heart stuttered. Derek was standing next to the stands, in the middle of the walk-way, just staring at him. His face was stern, but when their eyes met, Stiles swore he saw the other man's lips twitch up slightly. Stiles took a deep breath in and tried to squash the desire creeping up his spine, longing for that precious tube of cream in his locker. Derek Hale was standing there, watching him play Lacrosse. He was wearing his leather jacket and Stiles' favorite pair of his jeans that hugged his body in all the right ways. The adrenaline already pumping through Stiles' system urged his thoughts along, seeming to pump the desire through his veins even quicker.

He heard the ref blow the whistle and gave his head a firm shake as he pulled his gaze away from Derek's and tried to focus back on the game. He really couldn't screw up now. And there was no point worrying about what scents he was giving off when he couldn't do anything about it right then. Derek was all the way across the field and the place was swarming with horny teenagers - Even if he _could_ scent him from there, Derek would never be able to tell that the stench of lust was coming from Stiles anyway, right?

Stiles continued to play what turned out to be the _best_ game of Lacrosse he'd ever played. He knows nothing monumental happened, knows he only got to touch the ball _once_ when Scott passed to him and he caught it and passed it straight across to Jackson, but he'd _played_. And _he'd caught the ball_. _And_ he'd made a good pass! _And_ he hadn't been injured!

He felt like he was on top of the world!

Derek stayed there watching them play for the whole rest of the game. Stiles couldn't help glancing over at the wolf regularly throughout. Derek wasn't cheering or clapping, but he was watching them intently. More often than not, they made eye contact when Stiles glanced his way, but sometimes when he looked over he found Derek's gaze on Scott or Isaac or Jackson instead. He couldn't help the feelings he knew were probably permeating the air as he looked at Derek's solid frame, leaning casually against the side of the stands. Even from this far away, Stiles could make out the muscles in the other man's forearms where he had them crossed over his chest. When the ball was in play, Stiles was able to draw all his attention and focus on the game, but every time someone scored a goal or the ref's whistle blew to indicate a pause in play, his body's attention automatically shifted focus to the wolf and how much Stiles wanted to touch him. _More_ than touch him, really. He hoped to hell it wasn't obvious to the wolves that the stench of desire was coming specifically from Stiles and not any of the other hormonal teenagers on the field or in the crowd. He knew it was stupid and crazy, but he felt the pull toward Derek like it was a physical rope around his chest. He didn't know how he was ever going to get over his little infatuation that just seemed to keep growing. What had started out as an admittance that he found the man attractive (and _duh,_ who wouldn't?), had progressed into some sexy dreams, which had then progressed into lusting after Derek and wanting to feel him and taste him and run his hands all over his body and push _him_ up against a wall for a change and pull his hair and kiss him senseless and –

Stiles forcefully snapped his attention back to the present. In a locker room full of his team mates (werewolves or not), right before he was going to head to the showers was _not_ the time to be thinking such things. He jerked in surprise when Scott's hand landed on his shoulder, making the other boy smirk.

"You did great!" he beamed.

"Thanks," Stiles beamed back. "How's Isaac?"

"He's fine. Dislocated his shoulder. He got the nurse to pop it back in place before it started trying to heal around itself." Stiles winced. "Allison said she and Lydia would be waiting in the parking lot for us. We're going to get ice cream. You in?"

"Uh…" Stiles hesitated, thinking.

"C'mon dude. We could all smell you out there," Scott smirked at him and Stiles' eyes went wide.

" _What?_ " he squeaked.

"Lydia was watching you too, you know. You're a Lacrosse player now! Come get ice cream," Scott winked at him before strolling toward the showers.

Oh. _Oh._ So they knew he was horny, but assumed it was for _Lydia_. And he couldn't blame them because, well, _Lydia_. That made a _lot_ more sense than Stiles getting the hots for Derek Hale. Stiles thought he could maybe use this to his advantage actually.


	7. Ridiculous Over-Compensating Porsche

Stiles' new-found confidence that came from _playing his first proper game of Lacrosse and not stuffing up(!)_ along with his new great idea thanks to Scott, gave him the little self-confidence boost he needed to feel more comfortable around Derek. Which is why, after showering, changing into his favorite red hoodie and grabbing his gear, he strode out into the parking lot without first slipping the little magic tube out of his bag.

Allison and Lydia were standing in between Stiles' jeep and Jackson's ridiculous, over-compensating Porsche, waiting for them with Isaac. Stiles gave them all a grin as they complimented him on playing.

"You were great Stiles!" Isaac said, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Couldn't have done it without you deciding to rip your shoulder out of place, man!" he shot back. "So thank _you_!"

Allison laughed. "I wish I could have gotten a picture of Coach's face when you caught that ball and passed it to Jackson without dropping it," she said.

Jackson came up behind them and grunted acknowledgement. "Yeah, thanks for not tanking for once Stilinski."

Stiles beamed. Scott and Jackson had both played impressively as usual and pretty much won the game single-handedly, but yet his friends were all making a big deal about Stiles' first proper game because they knew how much he'd wanted it. Lydia just smiled a friendly smile at him before announcing "I was promised ice cream, are we going or what?"

And as Lydia and Isaac clambered into Jackson's Porsche and Scott and Allison climbed up into Stiles' jeep, Stiles looked around the parking lot, eyes searching, until they landed on a shiny black Camaro and matching sexy, dark-haired alpha leaning against the bonnet. Stiles grinned at Derek and saw the other man's lips twitch up in a half smile from across the rows of cars.

"You coming?" Stiles asked in a quiet voice that he knew the other man could hear, but Derek shook his head slowly and Stiles tried not to feel too disappointed as he watched Derek fish his phone out of his pocket and round his car to slide into the driver's seat. Instead, Stiles opened the door of his jeep, climbed in and turned the key in the ignition. His phone beeped in his pocket and Stiles almost dropped in his hurry to get it out.

**FROM: Sour Wolf  
Happiness smells good on you.**

Stiles grinned like an idiot, but it's not like Scott or Allison noticed, seeing as how they were busy making googly eyes at each other and whispering in the back seat.

**TO: Sour Wolf  
Come out with us to celebrate our epic win and my epic lacrosse playing skills. There's a Choc Fudge Brownie Double Cherry Banana Split Ice Cream Sundae with your name on it.**

**FROM: Sour Wolf  
That sounds disgusting. Make sure Scott doesn't forget perimeter check at 12. **

Stiles swallowed hard and checked his rear-view mirror. The Camaro was already gone. Scott and Allison were now making out. Stiles was still humming with nervous excitement left over from the game and it was making him feel slightly dangerous. Like he wanted to push Derek's buttons a little harder than usual. Wanted to flirt a little more bravely.

**TO: Sour Wolf  
You don't know what you're missing out on Sour Wolf. It's delicious. **

**TO: Sour Wolf  
What will you be doing at midnight while Scott's running through the woods for no reason?**

He waited a whole minute before his phone dinged again.

**FROM: Sour Wolf  
Sleeping. **

Stiles took a deep breath, typed out his reply, hesitated on hitting send. He was going too far. Why was he going too far? Did he _want_ to get mauled to death? He didn't know he had a death wish, but apparently he did because he hit the send button.

**TO: Sour Wolf  
Want company?**

Stiles panicked. Oh my God. _Oh my God_. Why the hell did he send that? What was he thinking? Going through all the trouble of masking his feelings for Derek with a bloody magical lotion from a hippy cave-witch only to go and basically ask Derek to sleep with him?! What the hell was he thinking?! The lacrosse high had given him brain-damage.

Scott's face was suddenly right there next to him, leaning forward between the seats.

"Stiles. What's wrong? What's going on?" he asked, alarmed. Stiles' face was even more pale than usual – he could see it in his reflection in the mirror.

"Nothing," he swallowed. "I'm fine." And then his previous feeling of bravery was completely gone and he was quickly typing another message.

**TO: Sour Wolf  
Instead of sleeping I mean. Like, company for watching a movie or something.**

"You're not fine. Your heart is beating a mile a minute and you look like you've seen a ghost," Scott was frowning at him.

"I think I'm about to _be_ a ghost," Stiles muttered. Then his phone beeped again and he steeled himself to look at it as Scott was glancing around frantically through the windows, trying to find what had spooked Stiles so badly.

**FROM: Sour Wolf  
1 Hour. My apartment. We need to talk.**

Stiles let his head fall forward onto the steering wheel.

"Stiles, what's going on?" Scott was using his demanding voice now.

"Nothing Scott, I'm sorry I freaked you out but there's nothing to worry about, honestly. Let's go get some ice cream before the others eat it all."

Scott was far from convinced, but Stiles made his heartbeat slow down and brought his breathing back under control by sheer force of will he didn't know he possessed as he pulled out of the parking space, so Scott let it go and settled for watching him through narrowed eyes instead. A glance into his mirror showed Allison looking at him curiously.

As soon as they pulled into the diner, Stiles rubbed some of the cream onto the back of his neck discretely and then ignored Scott's glare of disapproval as they went in to order.

 

* * *

 

 

Even though it had been part of Stiles' new plan to try to convince his friends that the scent of arousal coming from Stiles all the time was directed at Lydia and _not_ their alpha, Stiles was not enjoying the way Scott and Allison were trying to "help" him out. And by "help", he was referring to the fact that they had so far rigged it so that Lydia was pressed against his side in the small booth at the diner and that his sundae had suspiciously arrived with _two_ spoons and his milkshake with _two_ straws.

"Aww, that's cute," Allison said sweetly, and not at all convincingly. "The waitress must think you two are dating."

Stiles and Lydia both gave her a flat, unimpressed look across the table and Jackson rolled his eyes. Even though Jackson and Lydia weren't currently dating, that didn't mean they wouldn't magically find themselves walking hand in hand through the school halls again on Monday. It had happened before.

Stiles actually would have been having a great time with his friends if it wasn't for the giant distraction of Derek getting in the way. He loved watching Scott and Isaac reliving the game in dramatic detail, their faces lit up with excitement. He loved seeing the soft looks Scott and Allison snuck each other all the time and the way he could tell they were holding hands under the table from the angle of their arms. Loved seeing them happy. Even Jackson seemed to be in a good mood, joining in on the conversations and never once intentionally aggravating or hurting Stiles by nudging him, tripping him or teasing him. Stiles was glad for the respite. Once upon a time, really not that long ago, being able to feel Lydia's arm brushing his and being able to smell her coconut shampoo would have turned Stiles into a pool of molten lava jelly, but right then the best he could muster up was _it was nice_. It was nice having her sitting close to him, having her smile at him and talk to him about their chemistry teacher and the state of the economy and the final season of Greys Anatomy. But he was actually startled to realize he wasn't glancing at her mouth when she talked, wasn't discretely letting his eyes drift lower when she wasn't watching, wasn't hoping to hold her hand. He simply wanted to know her opinion on things and listen to her talk and joke and laugh.

He loved seeing his friends happy like this. But he couldn't completely enjoy it and join in with them because he was still too busy worrying about going to Derek's later and about what he wanted to talk about. Still thinking about those text messages and the smirk on Derek's face from across the parking lot. Something had shifted between them after they'd had that talk, but he had no idea what.

Stiles _hated_ this. All of this confusion and feelings and _mess_ caused from just one stupid dream that wasn't supposed to mean anything. But somehow it did. And it made Stiles so… _sad._ Sad that he would never be able to tell Derek that he wanted to kiss him. Sad that he didn't know how to make these thoughts and feelings go away. Sad because he knew that, if Derek ever found out about any of this, the pack, his friends, it would all go away. Sad because he'd lose the happiness he'd already found if he tried to reach for the extra happiness he really wanted.

 


	8. Delicious

Exactly 1 hour and 3 minutes after Derek's last text message, Stiles pulled into the space outside the other man's apartment. He grabbed the small cup from the cup holder, slid the little tube of power-balm into the pocket of his red hoodie and made his way to the elevator. His mind was kind of past worrying now. The sadness from before kind of dampened the worry and panic so that now all Stiles was really feeling was anxious and defeated, with also a tiny bit of excitement that he would get to see Derek. And yes, he knew how pathetic he was.

Stiles had time to plaster a half-fake smile to his face before the elevator doors opened into Derek's apartment. And then Derek was there.

"You're late," he growled.

"By like-" Stiles checked his watch "Four minutes! Here, I brought you a present," he said, thrusting the cup in his hand towards Derek. Derek sniffed it and made a face.

"It smells like pure sugar."

"Just trying to sweeten up the sour wolf," Stiles grinned and walked past him to flop onto his spot on the couch. (Yes, he had a _spot_.) "Trust me, just taste it, it's delicious."

Derek walked over to the couch and sat down next to him. Stiles watched as he placed the cup onto the coffee table without eating any and frowned. Stiles was more than a little confused (as usual) at why Derek had seemed happy enough to smirk and send him nice text messages that melted his insides just an hour (and 4 minutes) ago, but now all of a sudden was pissed at him again.

Oh _, that's_ _right_ , he'd insinuated he wanted to give him company in his bed, hadn't he? Woops.

"Go wash that stuff off," Derek told Stiles using his demanding-alpha voice.

"Uh, no. We've been over this," Stiles responded, proud of the steadiness in his voice. He realized that was another possible reason that Derek seemed pissed at him again.

Derek just glared at him.

"Wash it off Stiles. Or I'll do it for you."

OK, now it was time for Stiles to get mad.

"No, Derek. I'm not washing it off. You wanted to talk, so maybe you should just start talking," Stiles tried to stay calm. He didn't come here to argue with Derek. He came here to… well, he didn't really know. He came here because Derek asked him to. And because he wanted to. Because he couldn't _not_.

"Stiles, I can't talk to you properly with that _stuff_ on you," Derek's face screwed up in disgust.

"Then don't talk to me. I'll just leave," Stiles stood up from the couch, but Derek grabbed his wrist before he could move away. Stiles' eyes shot down to where he could feel the heat burning through his skin at the contact. Derek's gaze followed Stiles' so they were both staring at where their hands met.

"I'm- Sit down," Derek said, voice much quieter. "Please."

"Are you going to eat the ice cream that I brought you?" Stiles asked him, not really knowing why he was pushing the ice cream thing. It probably had something to do with the fact that Derek didn't even trust him enough to taste a freaking sundae and yet here they were arguing over Derek's lack of trust in him when it came to things that were _so_ much bigger than that. Derek narrowed his eyes at him, let go of his wrist and picked the cup back up off the table. Stiles watched him shovel a scoop of the ice cream into his mouth, almost sulkily. Then Stiles swallowed hard as his annoyance was momentarily pushed aside for more enticing feelings because Derek's tongue was darting out to lick the ice cream from his bottom lip and he was trying not to gape.

"Happy now?" he asked, placing the cup back down on the table. Stiles just sat back down on the couch carefully. The tension in the air was stifling.

"Yes," he said dryly.

"Good. Are you going to wash that stuff off so we can talk?"

"No. I don't even know if washing it off works. We can talk with it on."

"We can't."

"Why not?"

"Because- because I can't tell what you're thinking!" Derek was exasperated with him. Stiles knew the look well, had seen the same look on his Dad's face, Scott's face, his teachers' faces… anyone who spoke to him really.

"Well now you know what it's like for me!" Stiles shot back. "I'm not asking for any advantages here Derek, I'm just leveling the playing field."

Derek's jaw was clenched shut and his hands balled into fists on his knees. "You don't understand. I _hate_ not being able to read you. I _hate_ not being able to smell you or hear your heartbeat Stiles," Derek ground out the words like they hurt him to say.

"Why? Why does it matter?"

There was a long pause. The silence stretched on so long that Stiles was about to give up on ever getting an answer. But then Derek spoke up.

"Because I can't tell if you're OK."

He said it so seriously that Stiles was a little stunned. Then he tried to put himself in Derek's position for the first time. Being the alpha, it was Derek's job to keep his pack safe. Stiles knew all of his most basic, primal instincts went to ensuring his pack was safe and OK. Stiles was kind of denying Derek the ability to tell if he was OK by blocking his scent. And not being able to hear his heartbeat must have also set his wolf on edge, instincts telling him Stiles was dead. Stiles understood, but that didn't mean he was going to give in.

Stiles nodded. "I'm OK," he told Derek seriously. "But I can't take it off."

"Why not? Why are you trying to hide from me Stiles? What did I do?"

Stiles almost gasped. Derek looked pained. And he sounded lost. And Stiles wanted to hug him, which he knew was absurd. It also kind of made him want to tell him the truth, which Stiles knew was even more absurd.

"You didn't _do_ anything. I just… I don't want you knowing everything that I'm feeling all the time, OK? I feel like ever since my best friend was bitten by a werewolf, all my privacy has just gone flying out the window. And I'd like to get some back," Stiles sighed at the miserable look on Derek's face and carried on, trying to make the stupid, stubborn wolf understand. "You make all these calls, these decisions, about things that affect the whole pack. And you're our alpha, so we do whatever you tell us to and we always have your back and _trust_ your instincts. We trust you to make the best decisions for us all. But that should be a two-way street. You said yourself that we all have our weaknesses and we need to trust our fellow pack members to help us to overcome those. Well Derek, _your_ weakness is your inability to trust us. I _know_ it's an incredibly difficult thing for you to do and I'm not asking you to trust just anyone, but you need to learn to trust your pack Derek."

The unspoken _'You need to learn to trust_ _ **me**_ _'_ hung in the air.

There was another long, drawn-out pause where they both sat side by side on the couch, looking straight ahead. And then, after what seemed like hours, Derek suddenly leaned forward and grabbed the ice cream cup from the table. It was mostly melted now, but Derek still dug the spoon in and took a big mouthful. Stiles' jaw dropped open slightly and his eyebrows went straight up. His mouth opened and shut in his best imitation of a goldfish.

"Shut up," Derek grumbled at him sulkily as he continued to eat the chocolate gloop greedily and Stiles laughed a real, honest, belly laugh. Derek had trusted him and tasted the ice cream. And then he'd admitted defeat by actually _enjoying_ the ice cream. Stiles felt all the tension from their previous conversation leave his body. Derek started smiling around the spoon soon after and Stiles felt his stomach unclench and his heart get lighter and his head get clearer as they just sat there on the couch chuckling.

"See? I told you to trust me!" he told the older man, still snickering and giving him a playful nudge with his shoulder. "Delicious, huh?"

 

* * *

 

 

Once they'd stopped laughing, the ice cream had been finished and Stiles had gone into the bathroom to give 'Little Stiles' a stern mental talking to about his inappropriate _reaction_ to the sound of Derek laughing, Stiles felt a lot better. He walked back out into the lounge and curled his legs up under himself as he sat back down in his spot.

"So, Big Bad, are you going to tell me why you summoned me here yet?" He made sure to keep his tone light, not wanting the tension from earlier to return.

"Do you really have to call me that?"

"Yes, I really do," Stiles grinned at him. "Everyone needs a nickname."

"You've already given me multiple nicknames," Derek frowned at him. "Sour wolf, Miguel, _Der_ _Bear_ ," Derek's face twisted up in disapproval at that one. Stiles had only been game enough to call him 'Der Bear' the one time, and that was only because Lydia had used the word 'grizzly' to describe their fearless leader while they were all walking through the woods one day and then Derek had actually _growled_ in response and it was just so fitting, Stiles couldn't help it. He'd never called him it again though (out loud, at least), what with Derek grabbing the front of his shirt and pushing him up into a rather prickly tree at the time and learning his lesson. (This was back before the dreams, when being pushed up against things wasn't considered a form of foreplay in Stiles' over-active imagination).

"A guy's gotta have options," Stiles shrugged. He saw Derek's eyes flick down to his red hoodie.

"Well then… _Little Red_..." Stiles snorted. He was enjoying playful Derek too much. "The reason I wanted to talk to you is… I need to ask you a favor," Derek finished, making Stiles' eyebrows nearly recede into his hairline in shock.

"Uh, come again? A _favor_?" Stiles didn't know Derek knew the meaning of the word 'favor'. He just demanded people do things that he needed done without acknowledging when they did it or thanking them for it afterwards.

"Yes. A _favor,_ " Derek didn't sound amused at having to repeat something that was probably hard to say the first time around.

"You _do_ know a favor gets returned right? Like, if you ask me for a favor, one day I'm allowed to ask _you_ for a favor. 'I scratch your back, you scratch mine' type scenario?" Stiles couldn't help it. His mouth had a mind of its own. And so did his mind, which was now running away with the idea of Derek scratching his claws down Stiles' back…

" _Stiles_ ," Derek warned, before continuing. "I need you to contact your ' _friend'_."

Stiles wasn't expecting that. "Sam?" he asked in confusion.

Derek's eyes seemed to darken for some reason. "You never told me their name. Your friend who's been teaching you things, who gave you that horrible cream."

"Why?"

"I need to know if there's been any talk within… supernatural communities nearby. About a rogue."

"Is this about the scent Jackson caught on the far side of the woods? Derek that was a week ago and no one's seen, heard or smelled him since. What's going on?" Stiles was used to Derek never telling them the full story on anything. He was just as bad as Sam and Deaton when it came to vague half-stories, but if Derek had Scott, Isaac and Jackson running the perimeter at regular intervals a week after one lone wolf had wandered onto Hale pack territory and then disappeared again, there was definitely a bigger picture here. Derek was worried and that worried Stiles.

"I've smelt that same scent before," Derek told him. "He's dangerous."

"When? Where?" There was a brief pause, where Stiles thought Derek was considering not telling him. But luckily for Derek, he answered Stiles' questions before the younger boy could start getting riled up about Derek not trusting him again.

"Years ago, when I was in New York. He went on a killing spree. It was all over the news – did you ever hear of the serial killer they called the Killing Coyote?" Stiles nodded.

"They thought someone was going around murdering people and covering his tracks using a trained coyote to tear the bodies to shreds afterwards and make it look like an animal attack."

"That's right. But it wasn't a trained animal. It was a werecoyote who went by the name Connor Flint. He liked to use a knife to kill his victims before he shifted and finished the job, which is why the police thought there was both a person and an animal involved. He made enemies everywhere, killing innocent humans as well as werewolves and hunters. No one could track him down. Laura and I temporarily joined up with another New York pack to try and hunt him, but he was clever and fast and knew how to cover his tracks. It was like he could disappear into thin air. We couldn't catch him."

"So, what happened to him?" Stiles asked, leaning forward towards Derek unconsciously as he told the story.

"The bodies stopped coming and everyone assumed he'd been killed. No one ever owned up to killing him, or found his body, but the murders stopped and there were no more scent trails to trace, so eventually we all gave up looking."

"Are you sure it's him, out in the woods?"

Derek turned his head to look into Stiles' eyes so he could see the truth in them. "I'm sure."

Stiles let that sink in and Derek continued. "Flint was an expert at covering his tracks and disappearing into thin air, so just because we haven't found any traces of him since last week, doesn't mean he isn't still here."

Stiles gulped audibly. "Right… so that's why you told Scott you don't think he's coming back… because you think he's still here, that he never left." He hadn't phrased it like a question, but Derek nodded anyway. "So what are you – _we –_ going to do?"

"I was hoping you could reach out to your friend and ask the question. If he's been spotted in the area by another pack already, he'll already have hunters on him. We could try to join forces, maybe, help by giving them a new lead on his whereabouts."

"And if no one else knows that he's re-appeared?"

"Then we can warn neighboring packs in case he manages to move on from Beacon Hills before we can catch him."

Stiles nodded. "We'll catch him," he told his alpha confidently and Derek smiled.

"I didn't need to hear your heart to know that one wasn't a lie."

Stiles managed to smile back at him even with his heart threatening to jump out of his chest cavity at the sight before him.

"Can you call your friend tonight?" Derek asked.

"I don't have his number… we don't talk on the phone, we chat online and email," Stiles ignored Derek's eye-roll. "Where's your laptop? There was a tournament online tonight that he wouldn't have missed so he might still be online."

Derek pulled his computer out from the stand next to the couch and handed it to Stiles. "A tournament?"

"Online gaming. It's a big deal for us gamer-geeks, OK? Don't laugh at me."

"Why aren't you playing then?"

Stiles glanced up at Derek from where he was logging his laptop.

"Because I'm here."

There was an awkward pause of silence where Stiles could feel Derek staring at him but refused to look up from the laptop. Stiles cleared his throat and asked "what time is it?"

Derek leaned sideways to check the clock on the wall. "12.45."

Stiles suddenly stopped typing and looked straight at Derek. "Has Scott checked in yet?"

Derek's eyes hardened and he frowned. "…No."

Stiles' stomach dropped and Derek suddenly stood up from the couch and grabbed his phone. Stiles tried not to start panicking as he stood up too and leaned in so he could press his ear against the other side of the phone to hear what Scott said when he picked up.

Except, he didn't pick up.

Derek pulled the phone down away from his ear as soon as he heard the voicemail message click on and turned to say something to Stiles. Only Stiles was concentrating hard on not thinking bad things and hadn't yet moved away so Derek's nose actually bumped against his own for a split second before they both jumped away as though electrocuted.

Neither of them said anything and they both avoided making eye contact. Derek put his phone to his ear again and Stiles listened to his side of the conversation from a safer distance.

"Have you seen Scott?... be at the lake in 10 minutes and bring Jackson… he hasn't checked in and isn't answering his phone."

When Derek hung up, he moved to Stiles and looked like he was going to place a hand on his shoulder for a moment before he decided not to.

"I need you to stay here and call me if Scott turns up or answers his phone. And make sure you get hold of your friend."

"No, I'm coming with you," Stiles said firmly.

"No, you're not. I need you to stay here."

" _Derek_. It's Scott. I'm coming with you."

Derek's answering growl was a clear warning to do as he was told.

"I'm your alpha and you need to listen to me. I'm commanding you to _stay. Here."_

Stiles hesitated, looked into Derek's flashing red eyes, set his mouth in a line and nodded.

And then Derek was gone.

Stiles waited all of 30 seconds, typing the quickest email to Sam to call him immediately and leaving his phone number, before he heard the Camaro pull away and then he was running out that door too. One of the limited perks to being human – his alpha's demands didn't hold quite as much weight.


	9. Ten Points to Gryffindor

Stiles knew the spot where the pack was meeting up to try find Scott at the lake, but instead of taking the most direct route there that he knew Derek would have taken, he took the longer way around and parked far enough away that he thought the jeep would be less likely to be heard approaching. Stiles' mind was racing with thoughts of Scott and where he was and why he hadn't checked in or answered his phone after his perimeter check. Half of his brain was jumping to horrible, but plausible, conclusions like Scott had been hurt (or worse) by Connor Flint, while the other half of his brain was still in denial and insisting his friend was perfectly OK and that his phone battery had just died or something instead. Both halves of his brain were feeling guilty. Stiles had gotten so caught up with the distraction of Derek that he hadn't even realized his best friend could have been in danger. What if they found him too late and it was all Stiles' fault?

But he couldn't dwell on "what if's" right then. He had to concentrate on helping find his friend. Derek might not think he was useful in such a situation, but Stiles _had_ to help. This was Scott. If he sat around at Derek's apartment just twiddling his thumbs and waiting, he'd never forgive himself. Plus, he had a new trick up his sleeve… or rather, under his collar.

Stiles made his way slowly through the dark woods. The moon was bright in the sky, not quite full, but bright enough that Stiles was able to avoid breaking his neck as he clambered over fallen branches and rocks. As he got closer to the lake, he forced himself to slow down. Even if he was in a hurry, he knew his ninja-skills were virtually non-existent and he needed to slow down enough that he'd be able to concentrate on staying quiet.

Eventually, he heard the low rumbling of voices up ahead and knew he'd found where his friends were congregating, even though he couldn't make out their actual words. He used all the focus he could muster to slow his breathing down, tread carefully on the leafy ground and remain hidden in the shadows of the trees as he inched closer until he could make out their voices.

"I dropped Scott and Allison at her place at 11.30," Jackson was saying.

"And I reminded him _again_ about running the boundary at midnight," Isaac added. "I haven't heard from him since.

"I'll take north," Jackson said.

"No. We need to stay together." Stiles felt his heartbeat quicken at hearing Derek's voice and he stayed completely still where he was squatting beside a thick bush in the shadows. He couldn't see his friends, but knew they were about 50 meters up ahead, closer to the lake.

"We can cover more ground quicker if we split up!" Jackson was arguing.

"I said no. We're easier to pick off one by one if we separate. We need to stay close. And if anyone's out there listening to us right now, they'll know of our plans if we keep talking, so revert back to our signal training as of now. No more arguments."

Stiles inwardly cursed. Derek was smart of course, because if Flint was lurking anywhere within a 5 mile radius, he'd be able to hear their plans and they'd never catch him, but this also meant Stiles now had no idea what the plan was either because he couldn't see the hand signals his pack was giving each other. He leant back against the tree trunk behind him and tried to will his hearing into becoming as strong as a werewolf's. If he tried to move now and made a sound, he'd have his own pack trying to hunt him down, thinking he was a threat. This was a tricky spot to be in and Stiles wasn't sure what to do.

Suddenly, though, that decision seemed to be made for him when he saw a shadow dart between two trees to his left. It was a _big_ shadow. A wolfy-shaped shadow. Stiles wondered if maybe he should knock against the tree behind him, which was the signal Derek had taught them to use to alert the rest of the pack to their location when using the code, but he was glad he hesitated on it when the shadow moved again and Stiles realized it wasn't a pack member. The figure was heading in the direction of the lake, to where he knew his friends had been moments before. It was eerily silent as he realized this unfamiliar beast had mad ninja skills that Stiles could only dream to possess. This figure moved across the ground as silently as a shadow, and as Stiles watched with sickening awe, he realized the figure must not have known that Stiles was there. The cream was masking his scent and his heartbeat, and Stiles realized he'd been frozen to the spot and had been holding his breath ever since he'd noticed he wasn't alone.

As the figure darted even further away, using the cover of the tree shadows, Stiles forced himself to let his breath out as slowly and as quietly as he could manage. He had an advantage here and now he just had to work out what to do with it and try not to stuff it all up.

Then again, maybe he should just wait for Derek and the others to realize someone was on their tail – it wouldn't take them long to notice this thing's scent or hear its heartbeat after all, even if it could move silently like a ninja through the woods. In fact, they probably already knew and were currently circling back around to attack.

But after waiting another beat or two in silence, he suddenly heard Jackson's voice, cutting clearly through the silence from what Stiles guessed was only a small distance further to where they'd been gathered before.

"What the hell kind of signal is that Lahey?!"

"For fuck's sake, do you two want to find Scott or not?" Derek's voice came next, low and deadly-sounding.

"It's not my fault Jackson wasn't paying attention in training and can't remember the hand signals!"

"McCall is probably still getting it on with Allison in her room and didn't even come out here! I can't smell him anywhere."

Stiles would have rolled his eyes or slapped a palm against his forehead at his pack's antics if it wasn't for the fact that he was well aware of how serious this situation was. And also for the fact that a horrible sinking feeling was happening in his gut as an awful thought was beginning to make its way into his mind. _They don't know someone's following them. They haven't worked it out yet… It's Connor Flint. And he's using the same masking cream as Stiles._

 

* * *

 

 

Once he'd had the thought, Stiles instantly knew it was true and that he had to do something to warn his friends. They were basically sitting ducks, just waiting to be picked off one by one as soon as they separated. Stiles stood, trying his hardest to move both quickly and quietly (which definitely did not come naturally to him) and half-tiptoed, half-ran in the direction of his friends voices. He was hoping that if any wolfy ears heard him they may mistake his quick breathing and scurrying noises for a large, frightened rabbit (which wasn't all that far from the truth, really).

Stiles managed to dive behind a bush as soon as he caught a glimpse of Connor Flint's large, furry back up ahead and to the right of him, waiting in the shadows. Isaac and Jackson had stopped arguing now, but whether that was because of Derek's threats or because they'd heard him coming, he didn't know. Stiles couldn't hear anything other than the crazy beating of his heart, which sounded deafeningly loud to him, but thankfully was still being masked by the ointment from anyone else. He wanted to chance a peek out from the behind the bush to see if Flint had heard him or not, but decided against it. He might be able to get away with _sounding_ like a poor scared bunny, but he was pretty sure he didn't _look_ like one… much. He probably had the same twitchy, frightened facial expression though.

Stiles debated his next move. He needed to warn Derek that Flint was _right here_ , but if Flint discovered Stiles hiding there before Derek, Isaac or Jackson could get to him first, he'd be dead.

The only weapon Stiles had on him was the small knife that Derek had insisted he carry with him at all times. The alpha had given it to Stiles during a pack meeting once after he'd been complaining that the others all got to train and learn how to fight, but that Stiles was only ever told to stay out of the way. Stiles remembered the look on Derek's face when he'd handed him the knife and the words he'd said.

"I know you'll never be able to stay out of trouble, so I want you to keep this on you at _all times_. Do you understand?" Stiles had just nodded and stared at the blade. "Go see Deaton and he'll give you some things to coat it in to make it more lethal to werewolves. Bring it to the next training session - _without the wolfsbane -_ and I'll teach you some moves."

And then Derek had simply turned and walked away before Stiles could even make a joke about Derek having moves. They'd never gotten around to practising using the knife, but Stiles still always made sure he carried it with him anyway. _How hard could it be to stab a wolf with a knife anyway?_ But Stiles still wasn't in any hurry to find out.

Trying to be as silent as humanly possible, Stiles slid his hand into his pocket to retrieve the weapon. It was only then that he realized the tube of cream was gone and mentally cursed. It must have fallen out of his pocket at some point. How long did he have left before it started wearing off? He'd put it on right before going to get ice cream. _Damn,_ he probably didn't have very long left at all.

He slid the knife from his pocket and gripped it in his hand before rising to a crouch and making his way slowly around the bush to duck behind a nearby tree. He was out of sight of where Flint had been before but as Stiles couldn't risk a look, he didn't know if the werecoyote was still there or if he'd seen him. He just knew he had to keep moving and put some distance between himself and that bush where he was sure he'd attracted at least a little attention with his not-so-graceful swan-dive a minute before.

By the time Stiles had made it another 4 trees further, he risked a peek around the trunk toward where he'd last spotted Flint. His eyes strained to see in the dim light, but he couldn't see any giant, furry, evil creatures lurking anywhere. He also couldn't see any smaller, furry, less-evil (only slightly, in Jackson's case) creatures either. Stiles mentally cursed Scott for getting them all into this mess. Then he cursed Derek for ordering Scott to come out here and get them all into this mess. Then he cursed himself for getting so side-tracked with Derek Hale that he hadn't realized sooner that Scott was getting them all into this mess.

Then he cursed himself again for not listening to Derek and staying put instead of coming out here to chase a bunch of supernatural beings that could (and likely would) snap him like a twig in an instant.

But then he realized that if he hadn't disobeyed his alpha's orders and followed them out here, they'd never know Flint was out here using the magic cream and would likely all end up dead. Stiles had this advantage – he knew Flint was here and Flint didn't know Stiles was here. But unless he got that information to Derek, his pack would all be dead anyway. And so would Stiles. So he had to do _something_.

Stiles carefully picked up a large stick from the ground nearby and threw it as far as he could in the direction of where he'd last seen Flint. It made an almighty crash into the shrubs and Stiles stood completely frozen against where he was pushing himself so far into the bark of the tree behind him, trying to make himself invisible. And then he saw it, a slight movement in his peripheral vision. He managed to fight the instinct to snap his head in the direction, instead turning his gaze so slowly and smoothly so he could see better without drawing attention to his presence.

And suddenly he could see Flint, crouching low, up on a tree branch, his dark eyes darting around looking for the source of the noise. Stiles was too busy holding his breath again and thanking every deity he knew of that Flint hadn't seen him throw the stick and still didn't know he was there to wonder at the fact that Flint's eyes weren't glowing any of the normal werewolf (or werecoyote) colors. His gratitude at being lucky didn't last long however, because right at that moment, a very wolfy-looking Derek sprung out of the trees on the far side of the small clearing, his red eyes very much glowing brightly as he glanced around, also looking for the source of the noise.

Stiles _nearly_ let himself feel relief at having Derek close by and within his sights again, that comfort that the alpha's presence brought him seeping in automatically, but then the panic overtook all the good feelings when he realized Derek hadn't spotted Flint up in the tree and the wolf was about to pounce.

"Derek!" Stiles whisper-yelled, knowing all the wolves would be able to hear him but that the quieter he was, the harder it would be for them to locate him. "He's up in the tree behind you!"

Derek's shock at hearing Stiles' voice was short-lived. Stiles watched as he spun around just in time to see Flint lunging down at him. Derek managed to roll to the side in time to escape Flint's claws and teeth, but the rogue still managed to land on Derek's legs with a loud howl, pinning him down. Derek swiped at Flint with his claws, but wasn't able to connect and all Stiles could do was stand there and watch in horror.

Stiles never thought he'd be so glad to see Jackson. Both he and Isaac were suddenly there too, both throwing themselves at Flint to help Derek. Isaac's fangs sank into the back of Flint's neck at the same time that Jackson's claws sank into the rogue's chest. Flint was forced to step back at the pain and Stiles was glad to see Derek struggle free and pull himself up to standing using a log for assistance on shaky, still-healing legs.

"Stiles, _get out of here_ ," he heard Derek growl without looking at him. Stiles wasn't sure if that meant that Derek still didn't know where he was hiding, or if he was just trying not to draw Flint's attention to his hiding spot. Flint had now managed to throw Isaac and Jackson off of him and was glaring down at Derek again. Stiles remained frozen to his spot. He could see Jackson trying (but not succeeding) to stand up in his peripheral vision to his left, but there was no movement to his right, where Isaac had collided with a large tree trunk just seconds before. His focus remained straight ahead, where Flint was now looming over Derek. The rogue's back was to Stiles and the younger boy could no longer see Derek. He contemplated moving. Flint wouldn't see him if he moved now, wouldn't hear him either as Derek was growling loudly and consistently. But where would he move to? What would he do? He knew he was fairly safely hidden here in his little black alcove between a tree and a prickly shrub, he didn't think he'd find another spot that would conceal him any better. And he couldn't just turn and run; he could never leave his pack like that.

So Stiles remained frozen to his spot, eyes glued to the conflict in front of him.

Flint suddenly twisted slightly around and Stiles could see that he had Derek held up by his throat. His sharp claws glinted in the moonlight where they were squeezing into the alpha's skin and drawing blood. Stiles couldn't help the whimper that escaped his own throat at the sight and suddenly Flint's head whipped around in his direction, eyes searching.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," Flint's voice sing-songed menacingly. "Show yourself and tell me where you got the Draenic Lotion, or I'll rip his throat out."

Stiles was shaking. He willed Jackson and Isaac to heal faster and _do something_ , but he knew his time was running out. Derek was struggling against the hold Flint had around his neck, kicking and thrashing around and Stiles knew if he could talk he'd be yelling at him not to do it.

But he had to save Derek.

"Let him go, and I'll give you what you want," Stiles was proud of the steadiness in his voice. His whole body was quivering, but he somehow managed to sound like he had all the confidence in the world. He'd spoken softly, but Flint's head had turned to focus more towards his location now. Stiles knew it was only a matter of time before he worked out exactly where he was hiding.

"I can't do that," Flint growled. "But I'll make you a deal. You tell me where Agatha is and I'll make sure the deaths of you and your little friends are quick and painless. If you _don't_ tell me where Agatha is, or where you're getting your Draenic Lotion, I'll make sure to torture each of you to the point where you'll be _begging_ me to kill you."

Stiles' brain was working in overdrive, trying to think of a solution, _any_ solution to get them all out of this alive. Derek was still fighting against Flint's grip with all his power, but the rogue was just too big, too strong, had too much experience and advantage. From Derek's position, Stiles knew his struggling was futile. So he took a deep breath in, gathered up every last scrap of courage he had, and stepped out into the moonlight.

"If you hurt _any_ of my pack, you will _never_ find my entire Draenic stash."

 

* * *

 

 

"Ha!" Stiles wasn't expecting the rogue to scoff at him with quite so much humor. "You're just a human!"

"Congratulations, ten points to Gryffindor," Stiles said dryly, rolling his eyes. He wasn't sure quite why his brain's main defense mechanism was sarcasm and fake-bravado, but he'd use whatever he had in his arsenal, even if all he had at that moment was the ability to lie to a homicidal werecoyote and a tiny knife dipped in wolfsbane.

"And why should I believe that you even _have_ a large stash of Draenic Lotion?" Flint asked him. "Why would Agatha give it to you in the first place? What does a puny human like you need Draenic for?"

"Agatha's dead. And she left it all to me," Stiles lied smoothly.

"Prove it."

"Let my pack go."

There was a moment of silence, where Flint seemed to consider him seriously. Then, in an instant, the rogue had slammed Derek into a nearby log, head first, the sound making Stiles' stomach attempt to leap out of his throat.

"He'll be fine. He'll heal," Flint spat. "Eventually."

Stiles' eyes were wide with shock and fear and _pain_. All of his instincts were screaming at him to go to Derek, to make sure he was OK, to help him. The sound of Jackson's howl filled the air and Stiles' ears and somehow helped to clear the paralyzing emotions from his body so that he could think clearly again. He looked over to Jackson, saw his body was still bent at a strange angle and the sickening realization that his back was still broken hit Stiles like a slap to the face. This rogue was _beating them_. Stiles was on his own.

"Now give me the Draenic," Flint demanded in a growl Stiles could only describe as menacing.

"You'll never find it without me, and I'll never tell you where it is without ensuring my pack's safety. So I believe we're at an impasse," Stiles said smoothly, sounding 200% more confident than he felt.

Flint's head quirked to the side as he examined Stiles quizzically.

"Such a stupid little human. You don't even have any, do you?" he took a step closer to Stiles.

"Such a stupid little werecoyote," Stiles mimicked, also taking a step closer to Flint even though his instincts were screaming at him to turn and run, flailing into the night. "If I didn't have any, you'd be able to hear and smell me right now, wouldn't you? You'd be able to tell that I was telling the truth."

The rogue suddenly lunged at Stiles, gripping him tightly by the arms and holding him up against the closest tree trunk. One of his furry paws gripped his wrist so tightly that the blade tumbled from Stiles' grasp. He registered Jackson's menacing growl in the distance.

"I don't think you realize who you're talking to," the beast sneered at Stiles, his furry face and sharp, pointy teeth mere inches away from Stiles' face.

"And I don't think _you_ realize just how much you need me, _Connor_ ," Stiles sneered back, noting the tiny flinch cross the wolf's features at Stiles knowing his name. "Or how much you need a breath mint." Flint's grip on Stiles' arms tightened. A snapping noise came from his left arm and Stiles felt like the pain might actually cause him to pass out, but he forced himself to keep his tone as calm as possible as he continued. "There are a _lot_ of angry hunters and werewolves chasing you Connor. And they're _all_ on their way here as we speak." Just then, Stiles saw a blue glow flicker briefly across the rogue's eyes and Stiles was spurred on with his bluff. "Oops! Careful there Flinty, your magic cream's running low. I'm guessing that's why you're so keen to find my good friend Agatha, huh? You used up all of your disguise supply and now _everyone's_ coming to getchya!" Stiles' fake sense of bravado even allowed him to shoot the beast a shit-eating grin. If Stiles got out of this alive, he was totally going to consider a career in acting.

Or politics.

Connor Flint was breathing hard and glaring at Stiles, but he seemed to be thinking over his options. He seemed to be believing what Stiles was saying.

"OK," he said through gritted teeth. "Hand over your supply and I'll let your pathetic pack live. You'll never find me again anyway."

"Well you can start by putting me down," Stiles demanded calmly.

Flint slowly lowered him to the ground and let him go. Stiles immediately knew his left arm was broken as soon as it was released and he couldn't help the grunt of pain that escaped his lips.

Just then, his phone decided to start playing the theme song to Friends from inside the pocket of his jeans. Stiles couldn't believe his life. Sometimes he felt like he was in a horror movie, and then the next minute it was a badly made sit-com.

He held a finger up to Flint in the universal signal of "excuse me one minute" and fished his phone out with his good (OK, not good but _less broken_ ) arm. It still hurt like a bitch.

"Yello?"

"Stiles? It's Sam." Stiles registered that Sam didn't sound at all how he'd thought he would. He'd thought he'd sound older and… he didn't know… wiser? But then again, do strangers off the internet _ever_ turn out to look or sound how you think they will?

"Oh, hi Sam! Thanks for calling!" Stiles put on his cheeriest voice and started mentally praying to anything that would listen that Sam could think on his feet and went along with what Stiles was about to tell him, because he knew the seething form in front of him could hear everything. "Listen, I'm here with Connor Flint right now" - Stiles mentally crossed his fingers that Sam knew who that was – "so I can't talk for long, but he's looking for proof that what I'm telling him is the truth, proof of Agatha's death and my knowledge of where she keeps her secret stash of werewolf-barrier-cream that he's trying to get his hands on. You can help with that, can't you?"

There was a terrifying beat of silence.

"Uh, sure. Do you want to pass me over and I'll have a word with him?"

Stiles thrust the phone out to the extremely pissed-off looking wolf in front of him with an overly-cheerful "it's for you!"

OK, he probably pushed the joking and sarcasm too far. Flint almost took his entire hand off when he grabbed the phone and then made a point of crushing the precious device into tiny pieces in his fist and dropping them all to the floor. His eyes were definitely flashing blue now and Stiles knew if he had super sniffing powers he'd find the cream had worn off completely and the stench of pure rage would be filling his nostrils.

"OK, I feel like that was unnecessary, but I have another condition to add to this little deal of ours."

"That's not how this is going to work," Flint growled, stepping closer to Stiles and crowding him against a tree.

"Let's not pretend that I don't have all the leverage in this agreement, OK Flinty? Without my help, all those hunters and werewolves you've royally pissed off will sniff you out in a heartbeat. You tell me what you've done with Scott before I even think about telling you where Agatha's hidden her supply."

Stiles watched as confusion briefly flashed across the rogue's features. He was obviously never going to be as good an actor as Stiles. No Oscars in Connor Flint's future, that's for sure. Stiles let himself brighten slightly at the idea that Flint hadn't gotten to Scott, that Scott might be OK after all. But then suddenly, he was being shoved through the air at frightening speed and his broken arm was screaming in agony. The only thing he registered before he smashed into the ground and passed out was a big furry pile of claws and teeth and howling collapsing down between the trees.


	10. Water-Balloon Head

As soon as Stiles started waking up, he knew he was in a hospital bed. The smell of bleach that filled his nostrils and the thin mattress underneath him gave it away pretty quickly. He could also feel someone's presence in the room with him, even though he couldn't hear anyone moving or talking. He was just _so_ tired that forcing his eyes to open was like trying to make his eyelids do chin-ups.

"Stiles?" Suddenly the presence in the room was hovering over him and Stiles finally managed to keep his eyes open long enough for his Dad's worried face to come into focus.

"Hey Dad," he tried to say, but what he heard come out of his mouth sounded far from coherent.

"Shh. Don't try to talk. I'll call a nurse. Just relax, you're OK."

Stiles' whole body filled with contentment as his Dad stroked his hair soothingly, the worry in his face giving way to relief. And then Stiles was asleep again.

 

* * *

 

 

The next time he awoke, Stiles' head felt a bit clearer and his eyes a little less heavy. Mrs McCall was hovering over him with a tiny flashlight that she was using to check his pupils. Stiles tried to smile at her but wasn't sure if he succeeded. His face felt weird.

"Welcome back to the world of the conscious," she said to him. "Can you tell me if you're in any pain Stiles?"

Stiles' mouth felt like the Sahara Desert, but he tried to speak regardless.

"Feel funny. No pain though," he told her groggily.

"You've got a lot of medication in your system. Try to relax. You can go back to sleep if you like."

Stiles tried to shake his head but it felt like a giant water balloon perched on his neck and his brain was like liquid sloshing around inside it.

"Is everyone OK? Where's Scott? Where's-"

"Everyone's fine," Melissa soothed, running her hands through his hair comfortingly, just as his dad had done before. "Your Dad, Scott, your friends, everyone's OK. Do you remember what happened?"

Stiles did remember most of what happened. Remembered Flint slamming Derek into that log, and remembered Jackson's haunting howl and unnatural twist in his body, remembered how Isaac was completely unconscious for the longest time. He remembered being thrown through the air and being so sure he was going to die.

But he told Mrs McCall that his memory was fuzzy because he wasn't sure what the official non-supernatural story he was supposed to be telling people was yet.

"That's OK, it's normal for a head injury like yours. Your memory should come back slowly over the next few hours. We had to operate on you as soon as you came in. You had some pretty bad abdominal bleeding, but the surgeons managed to stop it in time. As well as a severe concussion, you've got 4 broken bones in your left arm, a fracture in your right wrist and a deep gash to your leg. You're going to take a long time to heal, but you're very lucky Stiles. You're going to be fine."

"What time is it? Is anyone here?" Stiles asked her anxiously. Sure, it was great to hear that he was going to be OK, but what he really needed was to see for himself that his pack was OK.

"It's Sunday – 6.30pm. Your Dad was here all day, but I sent him home to rest. I'll call him now and let him know you're awake. Scott and Isaac are out in the waiting room. I'll send them in for a little while, but then you need to rest, got it?"

Stiles nodded his water-balloon head. He'd been unconscious for nearly 48 hours?!

When Scott and Isaac entered the room, Stiles felt his body sag in relief at seeing them both alive and OK. Then he winced at their expressions.

"From the looks on your faces, I'm guessing Flint didn't improve my handsomeness any," he sighed.

"You look like one big, purple bruise," Isaac informed him and Scott punched his friend in the arm before turning back to face Stiles with a pained look on his face.

"I'm so sorry Stiles," Scott said very seriously.

"For Isaac? I feel sorry for Isaac too," Stiles tried to joke. Isaac just rolled his eyes.

"No. It's my fault you were out there in the first place. I'm the reason you got hurt. He could have killed you and it would have been all my fault and I'm _so sorry_."

Stiles was alarmed to see the tears in Scott's eyes and he didn't pay much attention to Isaac awkwardly heading back out the door with a mumbled "I'll leave you two alone."

"What are you talking about?" Stiles asked his best friend, who was still standing over by the doorway and refusing to move any closer to his bed.

"I… Jackson dropped Allison and me off at her place after the diner and I still had some time before I had to go check the woods, so I put my phone on silent and snuck in through Allison's bedroom window after she went inside. I…" Scott swallowed, looking at his shoes and talking quickly. "We got distracted. I lost track of time. I forgot my phone was on silent and then when I realized how late it was I saw all the missed calls and texts and I panicked and dropped my phone when I was climbing out of Allison's window and…"

"Scott," Stiles said it firmly and waited until Scott's eyes flicked up to his own. "Come sit down," he told him, motioning to the seat next to his bed. Scott hesitated but did as he was told.

"I'm so, so, sorry," Scott said with his puppy-dog eyes filled with tears as he looked intensely at Stiles.

"I know," Stiles said softly.

"Are you going to punch me?" Scott suddenly asked him. "I think you should punch me. I deserve so much punching."

Stiles scoffed. "Firstly, I have broken bones in both my arms. Secondly, even if my arms weren't broken, they probably would be after punching a werewolf. Thirdly, you'd heal in less than a second. Fourthly – is that a word? Fourthly? I'm sticking with it – Fourthly, I don't want to punch you. Sure, I'm a little pissed off that you got so wrapped up in Allison _again_ that you forgot the rest of us existed and you made me so god damn scared that you'd been killed. But I don't blame you for this, for me getting hurt."

Scott's eyes went wider.

"If you had have gone off into the woods at midnight like you were supposed to, Flint would have killed you. And no one would have been there in time to save you, because I got distracted and lost track of time too."

Scott's tears had dried up now and Stiles could see he was relaxing slightly having heard that Stiles wasn't going to hate him forever.

"You think Flint would have killed me? I'm a little offended you have such little faith in me, buddy," Scott teased and Stiles knew he was trying to bring some of their usual banter back because he knew it would help repair some of the cracks in their friendship and damage between them caused by tonight's events.

Stiles scoffed again and tried to raise an eyebrow. He wasn't sure it worked as he still couldn't completely feel his face, but Scott continued anyway.

"Who do you think took him down and saved your ass?"

It was Stiles' turn to look shocked. "What happened? Tell me everything."

Just then, Isaac snuck back into the room, tugging a reluctant Jackson behind him.

"I'd like to hear this story too," he announced. "Seeing as how I was unconscious for most of it."

"I'm _so_ glad you're all OK," Stiles blurted, feeling relief and gratitude for his friends flooding his body. "Where's Derek? He's OK too, right?"

Stiles watched as Scott and Jackson shared a look that Stiles couldn't decipher and Isaac shuffled his feet nervously. Stiles' heart began to pound in his rib cage. No one needed to be a werewolf to hear it considering the machine next to him started beeping louder and faster in time with it.

"Shhh! Calm down or my mom will come kick us out. Derek's fine, he's OK."

"Why isn't he here?" Stiles asked, taking deeper breaths to try and slow his heart rate back down.

"He's being Derek," Isaac stated and, bizarrely, Stiles knew what he meant.

"He's blaming himself and brooding and being mad at me for disobeying him even though I probably saved his life, isn't he?"

"Like I said… he's being Derek," Isaac confirmed with a nod.

"OK, tell me the whole story."

 


	11. Snapped-Twig Impersonation

By the time Stiles had filled the others in on the night from his perspective – being at Derek's when they'd realized Scott hadn't checked in, ignoring Derek's orders to stay behind, driving to the lake from the other side, sneaking through the woods after them like a ninja, spotting Flint stalking them – Mrs McCall had come back in to check on them and tell the boys they'd need to leave Stiles to rest soon and that his Dad would be by later on after he'd finished up with the mess at the station.

Stiles had begged her not to make them go yet. He hadn't even gotten to the parts of the story he didn't know about yet! And luckily for them, she'd relented with a long-suffering sigh and sauntered back off up the hall. They picked the conversation back up where they'd left it when she'd walked in.

"We definitely need a better hand-signal system," Isaac said.

"Or you just need to actually learn it," Jackson retorted. "Or better yet, Derek could actually _tell us_ when he suspects there's a dangerous serial-killing werecoyote running around the woods trying to kill us and not just let us think he's over-reacting to Scott ditching his responsibilities to hook up with Allison. Which I was _right about_ by the way."

"Shut-up," Scott snapped. "I've apologized a thousand times and I can't take it back, so stop being an ass."

"Anyway, back to the story," Stiles cut in before an argument began. "What happened after I threw the stick to draw your attention to the danger we were all in instead of your bickering?"

"I still can't believe we didn't know you were even there," Isaac admitted. "We all heard the noise and Derek immediately took off towards it."

"Yeah so much for not splitting up, he just left us there. Then we heard your voice telling Derek to watch out and we ran to help save your asses."

"And that's the last bit that I remember until Scott was waking me up," Isaac said, "so it's your turn to fill in some blanks."

"Yeah, well it's hard to remember things when you get thrown 200 meters into a tree by a psycho-beast," Stiles smirked at Isaac before his face turned serious again. "But you never made a sound and I was- I thought you were dead," he admitted softly, then turned to Jackson. "And your back, dude that was disgusting and scary as shit!"

"What happened to your back?" Isaac asked him.

"Flint managed to dig his claws into me and I lost my grip on him and he threw me. I slammed back-first into a boulder and broke it. I couldn't move."

"You broke your back?" Isaac's eyes were wide.

"And the boulder. Hurt like a bitch and wouldn't heal properly until I could get it at the right angle, which I couldn't do by myself, you know, on account of having a _broken spine_."

"And luckily for Jackson, that's when I came along," Scott announced happily.

"You were there?" Stiles frowned.

"Yeah. My turn to tell my story!"

"You can skip right over the Allison-groping parts," Jackson told him and Stiles actually laughed. As much as this story was terrifying and thinking about it all made Stiles feel sick to his stomach at how easily it could have ended so differently, he was soaking up the presence of his pack as effectively as his body was soaking up the pain meds in the drip hanging beside him.

Scott continued to tell them all of how he'd raced out of Allison's as soon as he realized what the time was and had discovered everyone was worried about him. He figured he could head around to the lake from the back direction and then casually pretend he'd been out there checking the perimeter the whole night and had just lost his phone or something. Stiles stopped him and pointed out that never would have worked because Derek would have been able to tell he was lying, but Scott just stuttered a little, clearly overlooking this giant flaw in his plan and then continued. Scott had then come across Stiles' jeep parked in the middle of nowhere, and then thought it even stranger when he'd also found the tube of magic cream ( _Draenic Lotion_ , Stiles has cut in to inform them) abandoned in the dirt. Scott's spidey sense had started tingling and he'd rubbed some of the cream onto the back of his neck the same way he'd seen Stiles do as a precaution.

"You just wanted to sneak up on us and scare us half to death, didn't you?" Stiles grinned at Scott and he grinned back.

"Maybe."

So Scott had eventually heard the commotion and snuck up to the edge of the small clearing, where he'd seen Jackson and his gross snapped-twig impression he was doing, and had helped him get it back into place so he could heal properly while Stiles was busy distracting Flint with his ridiculous antics.

"Honestly, Stilinksi," Jackson had cut in, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're a massive pain in the ass, but I'll admit, you've got balls. Flint had taken us all out within 10 minutes, but you were the last one standing, standing your ground with that damn attitude and obnoxious brain of yours."

Stiles grinned through his shock. "I'll take that as a compliment. I would have been dead the moment I opened my mouth if it wasn't for that cream covering up my lies though. I was shitting myself," he admitted.

"Derek was right," Jackson told him earnestly, but Stiles' brain was still foggy and drug-addled and he wasn't sure what Jackson was referring to. The other boy took pity on Stiles' look of confusion and added "what he told you the other week in his apartment."

It clicked. Jackson must have overheard Derek telling Stiles he was the smartest and bravest member of the pack. Stiles was blown away by Jackson, couldn't believe the change he was seeing in him. But he definitely wasn't complaining about this new anti-douche Jackson Whittemore standing before him. Stiles wasn't sure what to say to that and he's pretty sure he blushed slightly.

"Who was it that called you out in the woods?" Scott asked Stiles, breaking the awkward moment.

"Oh, my friend Sam. We've been talking online. He's an emissary in Washington, the one who told me about the yoga-loving witch named Agatha, which is who I got the Draenic Lotion from."

All three of the werewolves stared at him blankly.

"That's another story, for another day. Can we finish this one before I pass out again please?" Stiles sighed, feeling his eyes getting heavier.

"OK, so after I helped Jackson fix his back, I used the distraction of your phone call to move around to Isaac and wake him up," Scott said. "I just had to take some of his pain away and he started to come to just in time. When you asked Flint what he'd done with me, I gave the others the signal and we used the brief confusion to attack him."

"But not before he'd flung you like a rag-doll," Isaac added.

"Where's Flint now? What happened to him?"

Scott and Isaac looked to Jackson, who looked slightly uncomfortable.

"Jackson ripped his throat out," Scott said quietly. "He killed him."

There was silence in the room as they all processed this information. Then Stiles mustered all the strength he had in his mostly un-broken arm and reached out to touch Jackson's hand briefly.

"You did good," Stiles said simply. Jackson looked up at him, gave a brief smile and nodded. "You all did," Stiles continued. "You saved my ass. All of our asses really. Thank you."

"Don't be stupid. You don't have to thank us, idiot."

"Oh good, the old name-calling Jackson is still in there after all," Stiles teased. And just like that, he knew they were all going to be fine.

"Can I borrow someone's phone?" Stiles asked, after they'd all stopped chuckling. "Mine's in pieces scattered around the forest floor."

"Mine's in pieces scattered in the flower garden under Allison's window," Scott added, dejectedly.

"I left mine in the car," Isaac shrugged. Scott rolled his eyes. "What? The only people who ever text me are in this room anyway."

"Jackson 2.0? Does the new you lend out your phone?" Stiles asked, smirking.

"Depends what you need it for," he replied.

"Just want to try make that sour wolf stop moping and come visit me."

Stiles watched as his friends all gave each other another of their secret looks.

"What now?" Stiles sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes because his water-balloon head was starting to hurt and get fuzzier and he was strangely, mildly concerned his eyes might get stuck facing around the wrong way in his head.

"Derek's already here," Scott told him quietly. "We heard him pull into the parking lot when Jackson was telling us about his creepy spinal injury."

"He's still sitting in the Camaro," Isaac added.

"Oh," Stiles felt himself elate slightly at the fact that he'd come, and then deflate again at the thought that he wasn't coming up to see him.

"We should go anyway," Scott said, standing up from his chair. Isaac stood from where he was perched at the foot of Stiles' bed.

"Get better soon, Stiles. We'll come by again tomorrow."

Stiles nodded. "Thanks guys. Thanks for visiting. And filling me in. Oh, wait! What's the story I'm supposed to be telling my Dad and other fellow humans? And how'd I get to the hospital?"

"I think Derek can get his mopey ass up here and fill you in on that part," Jackson said, smirking. "Unless he wants to hide down in the car park all night like a scared little puppy and leave you to fend for yourself against the Sheriff tomorrow," he added smugly, goading Derek as he left and closed the door behind him.

Stiles laid there in contemplative silence for a few minutes. He really was getting incredibly sleepy and his arm was starting to ache, but he forced himself to stay awake and wait for Derek because he realized that if he went to sleep and woke up to face his dad tomorrow without having the correct responses to his interrogation, he'd be in serious trouble.

"Can you hurry your furry ass up, Big Bad? I'm tired." He mumbled, knowing Derek would be able to hear him… _If_ he was even still downstairs. Stiles was beginning to think he might have left when the others did, but eventually his door creaked open and the alpha's head appeared around the door frame.

"Hey," Stiles said with a sleepy smile. "Took your time."

Derek didn't respond. He slipped inside further, closed the door behind him and then stood there awkwardly, avoiding his gaze.

"So I'm still missing the end of my bedtime story, papa wolf. Come tell me the ending," Stiles teased, trying to get Derek to lighten up a bit.

"Papa wolf?" Derek's eyebrow raised when he finally looked at Stiles properly.

"I'll never stop with the nicknames. Deal with it."

Derek reluctantly walked over and perched on the edge of the chair by Stiles' bed that Scott had recently vacated.

"Are you OK?" Stiles asked him seriously. "The last time I saw you, you were face down in the dirt and I couldn't tell if you were even alive."

"Am _I_ OK? You're laying there in a hospital bed all swollen and purple with tubes coming out of you and machines beeping at you and you're asking me if _I'm_ OK?" Derek asked, incredulously.

"Well… yeah."

"The last time _I_ saw _you_ , you were quoting Harry Potter and goading one of the world's most notorious serial killers!"

Stiles smirked. "You recognized a Harry Potter quote."

Derek pinched the bridge of his nose. "Stiles, I'm serious. You can't just ignore my orders and run head-long into danger! I thought we'd been over this?"

"I warned you that Flint was in that tree so you could get out the way in time. I bluffed my way out of him killing us all on the spot. I stalled him long enough for Scott to get there to help. Would it kill you to tell me I did a good job for once? To acknowledge that I _can_ actually help sometimes?"

Derek was looking at him with concentration furrowing his brow.

"But you could have been killed. _So_ easily."

"And so could you! Just because you have supernatural powers doesn't make you invincible! What if _you_ had died?!"

"It doesn't matter if I die. It matters if you do," Derek stated matter-of-factually.

"Don't be stupid."

The room was suddenly silent again with the exception of Stiles' heart monitor beeping away faster than it was before. Stiles couldn't believe Derek was completely serious.

"Of course it matters if you die."

"I'm not… I just meant… I don't have any family left. No one would really care if I died, Stiles. I'm not saying that for a reaction, it's just a fact. But if _you_ died, your Dad, Scott, Isaac, Jackson, Allison, Lydia… they'd all be devastated. Anyone who'd ever met you would feel your loss. You matter."

"You matter to me," Stiles whispered it before he knew what he was saying. Then he heard the stupid heart monitor pick up speed again and quickly changed the subject. "Are you going to tell me how I ended up at the hospital or not?"

Derek sighed. "After Jackson killed Flint, he and Scott had rushed to help you, but they couldn't wake you up and you were… you were in a really bad way. Isaac managed to get me to come round by drawing all my pain away. Stupid kid nearly killed himself doing it," Derek sighed and rubbed a hand across his face. Stiles was going to point out it was because Isaac cared about him too, but decided to stay quiet instead.

"When I woke up…" Derek trailed off, but still Stiles stayed quiet. Very unlike him. It must have been all these pain meds keeping his mouth shut for a change, he figured. "I thought you were dead, Stiles. That stupid cream –"

"Draenic Lotion," Stiles cut in. OK, so the pain meds didn't work miracles.

Derek growled lightly. "I had to touch you to feel if your heart was still beating. I've never had to do that before. And then you stopped breathing and Jackson and Scott… they started giving you CPR. I didn't know how to do that."

"They taught us in school," Stiles told him. "And Mrs McCall makes us take refresher courses every summer."

"They saved you. And I did nothing." Stiles watched Derek fight his flash of anger at himself.

"It's not a good feeling, is it?" he asked the wolf. "Feeling helpless and weak and knowing you can't help save someone close to you."

They both just stared at each other for a long moment, before Stiles finally asked. "Then what happened?"

"Scott told me where your jeep was parked and I carried you there and drove you to the hospital, while Jackson and Scott carried Isaac to Jackson's Porsche and took him back to the den to heal. When I got here, they whisked you away on a stretcher so quickly and wouldn't let me go with you. I heard the doctor mention bleeding on the brain and I lost it a bit. Next thing I knew, I was sitting on a bench outside and Scott's mom was telling me to calm down. Apparently I'd started wolfing out a bit. She's a brave woman. I know where Scott gets it from now."

Stiles smiled. He couldn't believe Derek was telling him all this. "Mrs M is the best."

"She called your Dad and told him there had been an accident. When he arrived, I told him some thugs had beaten you up and that I'd found you in the woods. I'm not as good at thinking on my feet as you are."

"I hope you told him there were at least half a dozen of these thugs and they were all body-builders and pro-wrestlers," Stiles joked half-heartedly. "And that they looked worse-off than me in the end." Derek ignored his joking.

"He knew there was more to the story. He's a smart man, your dad – guess that's where you get if from. He asked me what you were doing out in the woods and then what _I_ was doing out in the woods… And then he punched me in the face."

Stiles' eyes bugged. "He _what?!_ "

"I deserved it… I just wish my face hadn't hurt your dad's hand more than his hand hurt my face…" Derek grimaced and Stiles snorted.

"I can't believe this."

"You should get some rest before he gets here. Now that you know my pathetic attempt at a back-story, I'm sure you'll figure out the rest of what to tell him. I didn't mention Scott or the others," Derek slowly stood from the chair, but Stiles' hand shot out instinctively to grab his wrist. Then he whimpered in pain when he remembered what a bad idea it was for him to be moving his arms around like that.

"I'm going to get the nurse to up your pain meds," Derek told him. "You smell like you're in pain and I can't take it away right now… I'm still healing."

"No, just…" Stiles closed his eyes and groaned when he realized the meaning behind Derek's last statement.

"What? What is it?" Stiles could hear the panic in Derek's voice, then felt the wolf move closer to him and place his hand on his cheek urgently, trying to pry Stiles' eye open with his thumb. "Stiles? Open your eyes. Talk to me."

"No, it's nothing, I'm fine! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." Great, now Stiles felt humiliated _and_ guilty. He watched as Derek's face visibly relaxed and then he became very aware of the fact that the alpha hadn't yet removed his hand from Stiles' face.

"Don't do that," Derek growled. "What was the groan for?"

"I just- I realized I don't have the cream on anymore and you… you can smell stuff again," he mumbled, feeling the blush creeping up to his face, even if his face did still feel kind of strange and tingly. Or maybe that was because Derek _still_ hadn't removed his hand from his cheek.

"So?" Derek looked the very picture of confused and Stiles _really_ didn't want to answer that question. What was he supposed to say? ' _So I'm not comfortable with you realizing how hot I find you'_? ' _So I hope you enjoy the smell of desire and humiliation because that's what you'll be smelling around me from now on'_? Or how about _'So I don't want you to realize how pathetically and totally into you I am'_?

They both heard the heart monitor pick up speed again.

"Well at least I know what my heartbeat sounds like to you guys now," Stiles tried to smirk and subtly change the subject to bring the room's atmosphere back down to a safer, more comfortable, usual awkwardness. Derek slowly dropped his hand from Stiles' face and Stiles broke eye contact, turning his attention down to his blankets.

"Thanks for bringing me to the hospital," he told Derek sincerely.

"You don't have to thank me for that," Derek mumbled, followed by another awkward pause.

"I'm- I'm really tired."

"Of course, I'll leave you alone. Get some rest… Little Red," Derek scurried to the door faster than Stiles could track with his sleepy eyes, but he wasn't too sleepy to let the huge grin cross his face as he watched the door close.


	12. Broody & Growly

The next time Stiles woke up, daylight was streaming in through his curtains and his Dad was staring intently down at some papers on his lap in the chair by his bed.

"Hey Dad," he croaked out, trying to sit up slightly but struggling when he was unable to put any weight on either of his arms to do so.

"Hey, son," the Sheriff immediately set the book down and moved closer to Stiles, helping him move higher up the bed and adjusting his pillows behind his back. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired, a little sore, but OK I guess," he told him with a small smile. His Dad handed him a glass of water.

"God, kiddo, I was so worried. Are you ever going to stop scaring me like that?"

"I'm really sorry Dad," Stiles said, meaning it with every fiber of his being. He hated seeing his Dad worried about him. He had enough on his plate without Stiles adding to it.

"It's not your fault," his dad told him.

"What time is it? How long was I asleep?"

"It's 2 o'clock. So… basically like a normal weekend wake-up time for you," his dad teased and Stiles smirked at him.

After a small moment of silence, his dad asked the question Stiles knew was coming, but was dreading answering. He hated lying to his dad.

"What happened? Who did this to you?"

Stiles took a deep breath in and let it out slowly.

"I was at a party," he started, but was immediately interrupted.

"Whose party? Where?"

"A kid from school, it doesn't matter, you don't know them. I just- I was angry at some… personal things… and I know it was stupid, but I just wanted to blow off some steam and so I went to this party out near the preserve, and it got out of hand. All these older guys showed up and gate-crashed and I was trying to help protect my friends, but I ended up pissing them off with my big, stupid mouth and…" Stiles shrugged. It was almost truthful at the end at least.

"We'll have to go down to the station and make a formal statement. And I will find the people who did this to you and-"

"No, Dad it's OK. It's pointless. I don't remember what any of them look like and I'm not dead, so… I just want to drop it and move on and forget any of this ever happened OK?"

"No. Not OK. These guys have to pay for what they did to you Stiles. And we have to stop them from hurting anyone else in the future."

"I don't- I just… I need you to trust me on this. Please don't make me file charges."

"Stiles I'm going to ask you something right now and I want you to tell me the complete truth. I will know if you're lying," the Sheriff looked more serious and angry than Stiles could remember him ever looking. Stiles swallowed hard and nodded.

"Was Derek Hale involved in this? Were they his older friends? Did he hurt you?"

Stiles' eyes went wide and he may have done his impersonation of a goldfish again.

"No! Dad, God, Derek found me! He brought me here!"

"I know, but that doesn't mean he didn't do it out of guilt after the fact."

"Dad! Derek did _not_ hurt me," Stiles looked his Dad dead in the eyes, trying to convey as much truth as he could into the look. "Although, I hear _you_ hurt _him_ ," he accused. The Sheriff winced briefly. "Why the hell did you punch Derek?"

"He told me it was his fault you were hurt Stiles."

"What?! Why would- Oh, _Jesus_ ," Stiles would have slapped his palm over his face if it wasn't all bandaged up. "That man is just all kinds of messed up," Stiles mumbled under his breath, shaking his head. "Dad, he told you he was to blame because Derek has a nasty habit of taking everyone else's guilt and twisting it around in his head until it becomes his own. Then he locks it up inside himself with the rest of the guilt he feels for a bunch of other things that were never his fault, and he lets it all eat away at him, making him feel worthless and undeserving of anything good in the world." Stiles' Dad was studying his face intently, so he decided to keep talking so that he wouldn't have to face the scrutiny in silence. "Derek Hale is a good man. Sure, he's broody and growly and makes questionable decisions, but I trust him with my life, and he proved that he deserves that trust when he saved me out in those woods."

The Sheriff was still studying Stiles intently when his son looked back up to meet his gaze.

"I didn't realize you felt that strongly about him," he said, voice just edging on accusatory.

"Well, I do. He's my friend Dad. In fact, the reason I was out at that stupid party in the first place was because I was upset that Scott had ditched me _again_ to hang out with Allison and Isaac. And the only reason Derek was out there at that stupid party was because he was trying to look out for _me._ I never told you that we hung out sometimes because I knew you wouldn't be OK with it. But the only reason you're not OK with it is because Derek takes it upon himself to shoulder everyone else's mistakes and guilt and he doesn't stand up for himself when he should. So I'm standing up for him now. Derek is _not_ the reason I'm lying in this hospital bed hurt, but he _is_ the reason I'm lying in this hospital bed instead of in the morgue."

Stiles wasn't sure what to do now. He hadn't meant to explode at his Dad quite like that. He knew his dad was only doing what he thought was best for him, and trying to protect him, but it upset Stiles to know that no one else was out there fighting for and protecting Derek.

Stiles' dad sat in silence, studying his son for a long moment.

"OK," he said finally.

"OK?"

"OK. Stiles, I love you, you know that. You are my whole world. And it causes me physical pain to know that there are people out there somewhere who did this to you and I'm not out there doing everything I can to catch them and bring them to justice for it. But, because I love you, and because you're seventeen years old now and no longer a little kid, and because I know you're smart and I respect you enough to let you make your own decisions, if you're asking me not to take this any further, then I won't."

Stiles' heart ached for his father. He knew how much he was asking of him.

"But Stiles, hear me when I say this," he continued. "One day… one day _soon_ , you _are_ going to tell me whatever it is you're not telling me now. I don't want to hear your stories and excuses and lies that never seem to quite add up anymore. I know you're keeping something important from me and I don't know why you feel the need to do that, so this is it now. This is the last time I'm just going to take your word on something like this without you telling me the whole truth. Because _nothing_ you can _ever_ tell me will make me stop loving you and protecting you. Do you understand?"

Stiles felt a tear roll down his cheek.

"Yes," he whispered, and then his Dad was hugging him, and Stiles was trying to hug him back hard but his stupid cast and bandaged wrist were preventing him from squeezing him the way he wanted to. So he just held on as tight as he could and cried a little more and said "thank you" repeatedly, knowing that the day he'd have to tell his Dad about werewolves was drawing closer.


	13. Looks Like A Duck, Quacks Like A Duck

The next morning, Stiles awoke feeling much better than he had for the last couple of days. That giddy head-rush feeling was pulsing through his brain and he searched the room for any sneaky, pain-taking wolves, but found it empty. Maybe the nurses had just upped his pain meds.

He looked over to the nightstand by his bed and noticed a small gift bag that hadn't been there before and eagerly reached for it using the fingers poking out from the bandages on his right hand. Inside, he found a new phone with a sim card already inserted and the most important phone numbers already programmed in. He even had 7 new text messages waiting for him.

**FROM: SCOTT  
Bro, words gttn round th ur in th hospital so prepare 4 visitors l8r. **

**FROM: ISAAC  
Hey Stiles, hope you're feeling better today. Harris gave me your homework to give to you, but I set it on fire. You're welcome.**

**FROM: ALLISON  
OMG Stiles, Scott told me you're in the hospital! I hope you're OK. I'll visit later and I'll bring Lydia and comic books!**

**FROM: SCOTT  
Just letting u no im stealing ur jeep 2 giv evry1 a rid l8r **

**FROM: JACKSON  
Can you please tell Lydia that you don't want me to get you get-well flowers?**

**FROM: JACKSON  
Or a smiley-face balloon.**

**FROM: UNKNOWN NUMBER  
Stiles, it's Sam. I hope this is the right number – I got a very weird email telling me to text this number to reach you. If it is you, call me. Or email me. Like, right away. I need a massive explanation with so many details it's not even funny Dude. Glad you're OK though. **

Stiles had the biggest grin on his face after reading all the messages. His friends were pretty awesome and he felt so lucky to have them. Even Jackson. He also suddenly finally realized why Lydia and Jackson seemed to make such a perfect pair. Back when he used to pine for Lydia and Jackson was a giant tool to him, he couldn't fathom what the hell she saw in him. But now he kind of got it – the same thing that made Lydia pretend to be dumb made Jackson pretend to be a ginormous dick.

Plus, Jackson had been pretty instrumental in saving Stiles' life. He supposed this meant he'd have to be nicer to him from now on.

Maybe.

He checked the time at the top of his fancy new phone – 7.30am. Visiting hours didn't start for another hour and a half. He hummed to himself and debated how to use this alone time.

He started by using his call button by the bed to summon a nurse to his room. He was hoping for Mrs M. But unfortunately, the grumpy old lady who begrudgingly came to check on him informed Stiles that Nurse McCall didn't start her shift until later that afternoon, but she used the opportunity to check all his vital signs and change his bandages while she was there. And she wasn't gentle about it either. Stiles had to bite his tongue to stop from asking her if she'd ever heard of bedside manner before. Instead, he asked if she knew who had left him the phone, but she simply told him she wasn't the parcel-delivery service and continued to shove her pointy torch thingy into his ear. Stiles was so bored already that he asked her if he could go for a walk, but she told him no, that a brain injury was too dangerous to be roaming the halls by himself and handed him the TV remote instead.

"I can't watch the TV," Stiles mumbled. ' _These hospital bills are going to be horrendous enough without me racking up a cable bill on top of it_ ,' he thought.

"Suit yourself, but it's all already paid for," the nurse told him, seemingly reading his mind and shrugging.

"What do you mean? Someone paid for my TV allowance?" She rolled her eyes and nodded as she continued changing his bandages.

"Your entire hospital bill has been paid for, in advance. Why do you think we moved you to a private room?"

Stiles hadn't even noticed the room had changed – all hospital rooms looked the same to him. It wasn't until the nurse said something that he looked around and noticed there were no other beds in the room when he looked past the curtain. He had the room all to himself.

"There must be a mistake… who paid for it?" he asked her.

"I don't know. I'm a nurse, not an accounts clerk." Then she turned on her heel and left him to contemplate this new information.

It didn't take very long before he gave up thinking about it and got bored again. He considered turning on the TV, but still wasn't convinced that there hadn't been some sort of mix-up and his dad would end up getting billed for it once they worked out the mistake, so he left it alone.

He decided to call Sam and get the explanation out of the way early. Sam picked up almost immediately with an enthusiastic "DUDE!" and Stiles laughed.

"Hey man, how'd you go in that tournament?"

"Jesus Christ Stiles, how about you tell _me_ what the hell happened Friday night first!"

Stiles gave Sam the shortest version of the story, about how Derek had realized the scent belonged to Flint and he was in the middle of trying to contact Sam about it when all hell had broken loose. Sam had 'hmm'd' along to the rest of Stiles' story and what had happened after Flint has smashed his phone to smithereens. Then he'd filled Stiles in on his side of the story, telling him they definitely all knew of Connor Flint but no one had any clue he was passing through again.

"Have you had any contact with Agatha since she gave you the Draenic Lotion?" Sam asked him.

"No, but I wasn't expecting to. She disappeared into thin air right after she gave it to me."

"The word in the chatroom is that Flint was looking for Agatha because he'd somehow found out she had some of the cream left. When I told you that stuff was rare, I wasn't sure how much you knew about it or how much I should tell you. The story goes that Draenic plants were already endangered back in the 17th century due to being incredibly difficult to grow and farm and having very short lifespans. There was one alpha werewolf named William Cromwell who was also a supernatural scientist, who discovered how to grind the seeds to create a paste that could mask his scent and heartbeat to other were-creatures. He used it to scare other werewolves into thinking he was some sort of all-powerful demon wolf and everyone came to fear him. He relied on the plant so much that he forced his large pack of betas and omegas to hunt down every last plant they could find and bring them back to him. And then eventually he'd made them extinct and he ran out of the cream. Once everyone realized what he'd been doing, his own pack killed him. After that, even though the plants were thought to be completely extinct, the use of Draenic became illegal under supernatural law anyway."

"Then how on earth did that hippy-witch have some?"

"I have no idea. If I'd had known she did I would never have sent you to her. Agatha has always been an odd woman and sticks to herself. No one knows much about her, but she's always been helpful to me. One of the packs close to where her cave is went by looking for her. They reported the cave had been ransacked and destroyed and there was no sign of her. I have no idea where Flint had been getting his original stash of lotion for the last couple of years, but my guess is that it ran dry and he somehow heard Agatha had some and went after her for it. When he came up empty at her cave, he would have followed your scent back to Beacon Hills."

"Do you think he killed her?" Stiles asked, surprised that he felt a tiny pang of sadness at the idea.

"I don't know. Agatha's cunning. It wouldn't surprise me if she was safely on the other side of the world right now. But I'm not sure we'll ever know."

10 minutes later, after Stiles hung up from talking with Sam, his head was swimming with a hundred different questions and his pain-free wake up was starting to be just a distant memory. He pressed the button next to his bed that his grumpy nurse had told him to press for more pain meds so he didn't keep calling and annoying her. As the throbbing in his head and arm and stomach started fading to a dull ache, he decided he needed another distraction from his unanswered questions and to keep him occupied until his visitors arrived.

He looked down at the phone in his hand and decided the contacts needed renaming with his usual flair. Whoever had entered them had stuck with boring real names instead of the nicknames they should have been and Stiles wasn't going to put up with that nonsense for long. He started by saving Sam's number into the phone from his text message and call, setting it as "Sam-Dude" with the game controller emoji. He then opened up the contacts folder and, starting from the top, changed Allison to Ally-Cat and added a crossbow emoji. Then he scrolled down to the next name in the list and immediately grinned like an idiot. The next number down was already listed as "Big Bad". _Derek had bought him the phone_. Stiles laughed out loud and felt his stomach do a (very manly) flippy thing. He opened up the contact, added a wolf emoji to the end (all contact names needed an emoji), and then started a new message.

**TO: BIG BAD  
Thanks for the new phone BB! ;)**

Stiles continued on with his task while he waited for Derek's reply.

**Dad = Papa Bear** _***Police Car Emoji*** _

**Danny = Danny Boy** _***Lacrosse Goals Emoji*** _

**Isaac = The Puppy** _***Paw Print Emoji*** _

A message came through with a soft buzzing.

**FROM: BIG BAD  
You're welcome LR**

OK, Stiles really needed to stop grinning like a dork at Derek giving him a nickname. It was one thing to enjoy the view of the insanely hot alpha, and imagine what it would be like to sex-up said insanely hot alpha (that was all hormonal urges), but it was another entirely to be getting (very manly) stomach flips and sending possibly-flirty text messages to the insanely hot alpha ( _that_ constituted _feels_ ).

His thumb hovered over the reply button.

' _Oh what the hell, I can always blame it on the pain meds making me loopy_ ,' he thought.

**TO: BIG BAD  
Will you be gracing me with your domineering, over-protective, surly presence today?**

He continued his task while waiting for a reply.

**Jackson = Jack-Off** _***Turd Emoji*** _

**Lydia = Queen B** _***Crown Emoji*** _

Another soft buzzing.

**FROM: BIG BAD  
Avoiding getting punched by your dad again**

**TO: BIG BAD  
Spoke to him last night - no more violence. Don't worry BB, I'll protect you from the big bad Sheriff :P**

One more contact to go.

**Scott = Scotty Mac** _***Pizza Emoji*** _

_*buzz buzz*_

**FROM: BIG BAD  
You're not funny. How are you feeling today?**

**TO: BIG BAD  
Suspiciously like someone wolfy took my pain away while I was sleeping.**

**FROM: BIG BAD  
Well that was nice of them. **

Stiles snorted. Then he frowned.

**TO: BIG BAD  
You paid my hospital bills too, didn't you?**

Stiles waited 10 whole minutes for a reply that never came before he got too impatient.

**TO: BIG BAD  
You can't just do that Derek. **

**FROM: BIG BAD  
I think you'll find I'm the alpha and I'll do whatever I want Little Red.**

**TO: BIG BAD  
No. You don't get to do that. You don't get to sneak in and take my pain away in the middle of the night and give me a new phone with my friends numbers already programmed in, and then give my new number out to those friends so that I wake up to nice messages, and then pay for my entire hospital bill complete with private room and TV and then send me messages and call me cute nicknames! You can't do that to me Derek!**

**FROM: BIG BAD  
Why not? **

_Shit_. This was not happening.

**TO: BIG BAD  
Because none of what happened was your fault and I don't want your guilt-money or pity! **

**FROM: BIG BAD  
That's not what it was. **

Stiles chewed on his lip and didn't reply back. He was so wound up by now that he actually jumped when his phone buzzed again.

**FROM: BIG BAD  
You said it yourself – it's a horrible feeling to stand by and watch someone you care about suffer when you can't do anything about it. But I CAN do something about this – I can take some of your pain away and I can pay your bills. You and your dad don't have the spare money and I have money just sitting there doing nothing and I don't need it. If the shoe was on the other foot, I know you'd do the same thing because that's the sort of person you are. Why can't I try to be more like that person too?**

Stiles sighed deeply and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand before replying.

**TO: BIG BAD  
It's too much. And I know you told my dad it was your fault I got hurt. If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it's guilt-money.**

**FROM: BIG BAD  
I will never understand you. **

**TO: BIG BAD  
Feeling's mutual. **

Stiles placed his phone back down on the table next to his bed and laid his head back down on the pillow. Since when had his life become this crazy? Werewolves, hippy-witches, magic lotions, serial-killer werecoyotes… these things were not real life.

Developing Lydia-esque feelings for an older, surly, terrifying, supermodel alpha werewolf with more emotional issues than Vogue? _Definitely_ not real life.


	14. Ass-Pha Werewolf

"Go fish… Scotty, got any 3's?"

"Go fish… Isaac, any queens?"

"Yeah he's sitting right there."

"Hey!" Stiles cried in mock-outrage as Scott and Isaac laughed. Then added "This game is boring. And you two aren't supposed to be mean to me while I'm laying here like a poor, defenseless invalid!"

"Can't help it. Just comes naturally," Isaac shrugged.

Stiles' room had seen a constant flow of people since visiting hours started at 9. Scott and his dad had been the first through the door, his Dad bringing him a bag of fresh clothes and Scott bringing his iPod with a bunch of new songs on it. Once his Dad had left around 10.30, Scott wandered out to find and say hi to his mom and Lydia had sauntered in immediately after with a shuffling Jackson in tow. He was carrying a bunch of flowers _and_ a smiley face balloon. Stiles uncharacteristically didn't give him any shit for it. When Scott came striding back in to join them half an hour later, he came bearing gifts of a smiling Allison and pudding cups from the cafeteria. Isaac had wandered in just after lunch to find them all playing poker using M &Ms as gambling chips and had insisted they teach him how to play so he could eat some.

A different (less grumpy than the last but obviously less awesome than Mrs McCall) nurse had come by to check on him shortly after they'd started playing again, shooting them a disapproving look at how many teenagers were squashed onto the tiny bed with an injured boy, but not commenting. She'd come in and checked and tweaked all the machines Stiles was still hooked up to, asking him if he was in any pain. He'd replied that he still had a headache but that was all and she'd written some notes on his chart and added something to his drip that immediately made him sleepy.

The next thing he knew he was waking up to find Scott and Isaac curled at the foot of his bed like puppies, watching cartoons on the TV Stiles was pointedly trying not to use because of a certain aggravating alpha werewolf and his pity credit card. He wriggled around to try to stretch his cramped muscles and groaned.

"Nice of you to join us," Scott teased.

"Where'd everyone go? Did I win poker?"

"They got sick of your snoring. And no you didn't win. You fell asleep and dropped all your cards on the floor," Isaac said.

"And then we ate all your M&Ms," Scott admitted unashamedly.

Stiles had whined and then caught sight of the cast on his arm that was now covered in colorful text and drawings from his friends. He forgot about the M&Ms and smiled, reading all the messages that he could see, before they'd started playing Go Fish.

It was now 4pm and Scott and Isaac were the last two standing.

"I need to get out of this bed, I'm going crazy!"

"Do you know when you can go home yet?" Scott asked him.

"They said at least another 2 days, so hopefully by the weekend," he told them dejectedly.

"I should be getting back," Isaac said with a yawn. "Jackson texted me earlier telling me to hurry up and come save him from broody alpha baby-sitting duty and I think he's probably suffered enough by now."

"I'll come with you," Scott told him, standing up.

Stiles tried his hardest not to react to that comment, but was pretty sure he didn't succeed because both sets of eyebrows raised at him slightly. Maybe he could pass it off at apprehension for them leaving him all alone than the pang of excitement at hearing Derek's name get mentioned (urgh, he was so pathetic).

"Don't leeeeeave me!" he mock-wailed. "I'm going to perish from boredom without you two knuckleheads to keep me company!"

"Visiting hours are up in a couple of hours anyway and the nurses will be bringing in your dinner soon – I can smell the trolley at the other end of the ward."

"Oooo! What am I having?" Stiles perked up slightly at the mention of food. Scott sniffed the air like a dog.

"Roast beef with gravy and potatoes."

"And peas," Isaac added, nose wrinkled up adorably. "I hate peas."

"Fine," Stiles grumbled. "Just go and leave me here, abandon me in my hours of need!"

"Dude, I've been here all day and I'll be back again after school tomorrow," Scott rolled his eyes. "I'm sure you'll manage."

"What?! _After school_?! You're telling me I have to sit here by myself _all day_ tomorrow too?" Stiles pouted.

"Well, yeah, we don't have much choice. Tomorrow's a school day. We only got out of going to school today because of the parent-teacher meetings and day of free-study," Isaac explained as he started backing towards the door.

"Wait! One thing before you go," Stiles made to grab Scott's arm before he remembered his hand was all bandaged up and incapable of grabbing anything. "Uh, do you still have the tube of Draenic Lotion that I dropped in the woods?" Scott shifted uncomfortably on his feet for a moment and Stiles narrowed his eyes at him. "Where is it? It's mine and I would like it returned to me Scott Nathaniel McCall," he said, using his most authoritative, no-nonsense parent voice.

"I don't have it. Derek took it," his best friend admitted sheepishly and Stiles' eyes narrowed even more.

"Right. Well, you two run along then and make sure to tell that _ass_ -pha werewolf that since he's so good at sneaking in here after hours and leaving me cell phones, he can get his furry ass back down here tonight and leave me that cream if he knows what's good for him!" Stiles was seriously irritated now. So irritated, in fact, that he only lingered on the thought of Derek's ass for, like, a millisecond.

Isaac snorted in amusement.

"You're such a Mama-wolf."

Stiles threw a glare at him, wishing his arms worked enough to throw something harder.

"C'mon Scotty, let's go see Papa-wolf!"

 

* * *

 

 

Scott was glad when Mrs McCall was the nurse to come and check on him after his dinner a couple of hours later.

"How are you feeling sweety?"

"Bored. Uncomfortable. Sick of lying here. Did I say bored already?"

"I meant more in a medical / health-related way," she said, giving him a look as she checked his chart.

"I'm OK. Headache's nearly gone. Can I get up and go for a walk yet?"

"You can walk to the bathroom, that's as far as I can let you go. Maybe tomorrow though."

Stiles sighed dramatically and let his head flop back against the pillow.

"What on earth are you watching?" she asked, noticing the TV babbling away in a different language in the corner.

"I have no idea. It was the most expensive movie on the order list," Stiles shrugged.

"I didn't know you spoke Japanese," she asked with confusion.

"I don't," he replied with a shrug. In his annoyance at Derek's confiscating of his lotion, Stiles had decided to retaliate by racking up the biggest cable bill he could manage in the next few days until he was released. Evil payback schemes were limited when you were confined to a hospital bed.

"Right," Mrs McCall frowned, but dropped the subject when his door opened and Stiles' father walked in, greeting her pleasantly.

Once Mrs M had left the room, the sheriff noticed the TV screen too and grimaced slightly.

"Stiles, I know you're bored son, but you also know we aren't exactly rolling in money-" he started, somewhat awkwardly.

"It's already paid for Dad," Stiles said, cutting him off before his Dad had to start feeling embarrassed at the situation. "My whole hospital bill has been paid. I- I thought you already knew?"

"What? How? I've been loitering in the hall until the accounts clerk left her desk so I could sneak in here and avoid her."

Stiles smirked at that. "And you wonder where I get my devious side from."

"Who's paying for your bills, Stiles?"

"Derek paid them. And before you start yelling at me, no I didn't _ask_ him to and yes I already told him we couldn't accept it, which he refused to listen to."

Stiles watched a bunch of different emotions flash across his Dad's face.

"Why?"

Stiles sighed. "Because he has the money and because he's… a friend."

' _And a stubborn pain in my ass,'_ he added silently.

Stiles' dad looked at him so intently that Stiles would swear he could feel lasers coming out of his eyes and drilling into his skull. He simply pretended to watch the Japanese film with interest.

"Stiles, I came close to losing you this week, and I've been extremely patient with you, because I trust we have a strong enough relationship that you'll tell me everything as soon as you're ready and able, but I gotta tell ya… I'm reaching my limit."

The guilt and sadness washed over Stiles in waves at hearing his father's words. He hated hurting his Dad. He was the most important person in Stiles' life and keeping massive secrets from him just wasn't fair.

"I know, Dad. I'm sorry. I- I can't tell you everything yet, some of it isn't mine to tell… but… ask me what you most want to know, and I'll try to answer," Stiles said quietly, holding eye contact with his father. The sheriff seemed to think this over for several minutes before nodding and saying "OK". Then he took several more minutes to think of which question he most wanted the answer to right then, one that he hadn't already asked and one that Stiles could possibly answer.

"Exactly what relationship do you have with Derek Hale?" he finally asked and Stiles blanched.

He really wasn't expecting that question. He was expecting his dad to ask who had hurt him, which he wouldn't have been able to answer. Or why he wasn't allowed to go chasing after said offender, which he also wouldn't have been able to answer. Or why he'd been lying to him so much lately, which he also wouldn't have been able to answer. He realized that, as far as the list of his father's questions went, this particular one was actually one he could answer without any real reference to the supernatural. And he really did owe his father some answers… and soon. So he took a deep breath in, looked his Dad straight in the eye and told him Stiles' own secret that he'd never even admitted out loud to himself, let alone told anyone else.

"He's my friend, Dad. We hang out. He looks out for us and tries to keep us out of trouble. And I- I like him."

"Stiles, he's much older than the rest of you. Why is he hanging out with a bunch of teenagers?" Stiles realized that his Dad's mind was delving into the land of the disturbing and Stiles quickly needed to find a different way to explain this that didn't make Derek sound like some sort of pervert.

"I know I'm not explaining this well. Firstly, he's not that much older than us – he's only 23. And… and I like him Dad. Like… _really_ like him," Stiles couldn't hold his father's gaze anymore and looked down at his cast instead, focusing his eyes on the little cartoon wolf Scott had drawn there.

"Stiles I know you know what it means when an adult… takes advantage of-"

"No! Dad, no, it's not like that. Jesus, Derek doesn't- he doesn't like me back… in the same way… or _at all_ probably. Nothing's happened. Derek's a good guy, I promise," Stiles was pretty sure his cheeks were about to catch fire they were so hot.

"Then why is he paying for your medical bills?"

"Because he's ridiculously rich and I'm part of his-" Stiles stopped himself, alarmed at how close he was to saying 'pack'. "… group of friends. He doesn't have many friends. Being dragged across the country when your whole family burns to death in your home will kind of do that to a person. Just… can't you just see him as a person, as another one of my friends, rather than as someone who's older than us?"

"Not really, no. It wasn't that long ago that I was arresting him for murder, based on statements made by you and Scott."

"Argh! I know, OK. I know this all looks very dodgy, but I'm not sure how to convince you that it isn't how it seems. Yes, you arrested Derek, and yes, I may have, at one point, thought he was a murderer, but that was before I got to know him and he's been cleared of all charges because he was wrongly accused!"

"By you."

"Well, yes. But think of it like this. Imagine I'm found at a crime scene-"

"Not too hard to imagine," his dad interrupts. "You turn up at crime scenes all the time."

"Just! Let me talk. Imagine I'm found at a crime scene by your deputies and the initial evidence suggests I had something to do with a crime and I get arrested on the spot. Then later at the station it all gets sorted out and I'm cleared of the charges because I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Then imagine that, even though none of it was ever my fault and I was a victim of circumstance, my future girlfriend's family refuses to let her date me because I was once arrested. How would that be fair?"

There was a long silent pause and the Sheriff was starting to look at Stiles like he was slightly concerned for his mental state. And yeah, Stiles got that look a lot, so he recognized it straight away.

"Is Derek Hale your future girlfriend in that scenario?"

"No! Uh… well… I mean-"

Stiles had never been more glad to see Mrs McCall appear in the doorway in all his life.

"Hey you two, visiting hours are up I'm afraid, and the boss-lady's on my back tonight so I can't sneak you in any longer."

"That's OK Melissa, I think I need to go process some things anyway," the Sheriff said, giving his son another puzzled look. "I'll see you tomorrow Stiles. Send me a text if you want me to bring you anything."

Stiles just nodded dumbly, still aghast about that entire conversation. His dad stopped and turned back when he got to the door, hesitated briefly before speaking.

"Love you son, no matter what."

"Love you too Dad."


	15. Pink Elephant

Stiles really wished he hadn't had that unscheduled nap earlier when his friends were there. It had really messed with his sleeping pattern and now it was 11pm and he was still wide awake, listening to all the creepy hospital noises around him. The was an old guy in the room next to Stiles' who sounded like he was coughing up a lung at regular intervals that was particularly disgusting and distracting him from sleep.

He sighed and carefully reached for his phone. He'd gotten used to the cast and bandages now so he could retrieve his phone using his right index and middle fingers like crab pincers and then lean it up against the cast on his left arm so he could stab at the buttons with his bandaged right fingers again. It wasn't pretty, or especially efficient, but it was doable.

Since his dad had left, Stiles hadn't been able to stop thinking about Derek. Sure, over the last few weeks he'd gotten used to the fact that his brain had taken to thinking about Derek for large amounts of time, but this was different. He wasn't thinking about Derek pushing him up against a hard surface and grinding on him (which, might actually have more to do with how painful and difficult that would be with so many broken bones and bruises), wasn't thinking about the feel of his lips or the curve of his ass or the ripple of his muscles.

OK, that was a lie. He totally _was_ thinking about those things. But he was also thinking about the fact that Derek had cared enough to get him a new phone so he wouldn't be lonely. And that he wasn't just paying Stiles' medical bill (as if that wasn't enough!), but also paid to upgrade him to a private room with cable and a view. And the fact that he'd taken to calling him Little Red… and how much Stiles approved of that.

He had to admit it. The lust and arousal had grown. He now had a bad case of _the_ _feelings_. And he didn't think the hospital could treat him for that one – he was terminal.

As soon as Derek found out, he'd start avoiding him. Stiles knew he'd suddenly stop getting text messages and stop getting told about pack meetings. Not only would Derek stop pushing him up against things, but he'd avoid touching Stiles altogether. He'd probably stop coming to their lacrosse games and wouldn't let them hang out in his apartment anymore. And then Stiles would have to stop hanging out with Scott and Isaac and even Jackson, because things would be too awkward and he couldn't deny his friends getting to have pack-time together because he knew how much the wolves needed it. No one in their right mind would ever say Stiles had a perfect life, especially when he was constantly being targeted by supernatural monsters wanting to kill him and everyone he cared about, but to Stiles, it was _his_ life and he needed his friends and he really _, really_ didn't want to let any of that go just because Derek had found out about his little crush.

**TO: BIG BAD  
I think you have something of mine.**

Stiles wasn't expecting a fast response, but his phone buzzed just a minute later.

**FROM: BIG BAD  
Not anymore. It's gone.**

**TO: BIG BAD  
Gone where?**

**FROM: BIG BAD  
That stuff nearly got you killed. You don't need it.**

**TO: BIG BAD  
That stuff helped save both our lives. I do need it.**

**FROM: BIG BAD  
No you don't. Go to sleep.**

**TO: BIG BAD  
Listen here, you big, stubborn, infuriating wolf! That tube is mine and you have no right to take it from me or keep it from me. You have no idea how much you'll regret it if you don't return it. I'm doing us both a favor here.**

His phone went silent for what felt like hours, but was more like 10 minutes. Stiles was debating whether or not to send another text when the light from the corridor was suddenly passing over his face as someone stealthily slunk into the room. Stiles didn't need to see or hear him to know it was Derek. It was like he could _feel_ him in the room like electricity.

"Unless you're here to give me that tube in the next 10 seconds, you need to leave," he told him quietly.

"Stiles you used that stuff to disobey my orders and follow us out into the woods to track an extremely dangerous supernatural serial-killer!" his voice was still quiet so as not to alert anyone in the hospital, but it was still extremely clear to Stiles that if they'd been somewhere more private, those words would have been yelled. "I told you to stay behind because I didn't want you to end up hurt, and yet you let that stupid lotion make you think you were somehow invincible and it nearly got you killed! I'm not giving it back; you won't ever be needing it again because I'm never going to give you the chance to put yourself in danger like that again."

Derek was standing right next to Stiles' bed now and the younger boy could make out his angry features in the moonlight streaming in through his window.

"You don't understand," Stiles huffed. He was so tired of fighting with Derek. Tired of trying to keep secrets from everyone. Just tired in general. "I don't need it for that. I didn't think I was _invincible_ , you idiot! But I couldn't just sit around twiddling my thumbs while my best friend was missing and there was a crazy killer wandering around on the loose! And I don't care what you say or how much you threaten me with, I won't apologize for following you out there that night because it ended up with all of us alive and it's extremely possible that my actions are to thank for that. I'm not saying you would have all been killed if not for me, like I'm some big hero, which _clearly_ I'm not, but I'm saying that if I hadn't come out there after you, you _might_ have all died – we'll never know – all I know is that I did go out there and we _didn't_ die."

It made sense in Stiles' head, but Derek's face was a mask of irritation so he couldn't tell if it had made sense coming out of his mouth or not.

"Well it's over now. Flint is dead. So there's no need for you to have the stuff anymore," Derek said flatly. Stiles groaned and let his head fall back to the pillow in frustration.

"Jesus Christ Derek, could you just listen to me for once in your life? Could you just stop being an obnoxious, domineering, bull-headed _ass_ for just one minute and realize that I'm literally _begging_ you to give me this one, tiny thing?"

Derek's eyes glowed red in the dark room and Stiles felt his heart stutter. Unfortunately, it wasn't a stutter from fear at Derek's anger and flash of dangerous wolfiness. It was a stutter at how god damn _beautiful_ those eyes looked when they returned back to their human color. And the more Stiles tried to hide the flood of attraction, the more panicked and flustered he got and the more his brain rebelled against him. It was like when someone told you point-blank "whatever you do, do _not_ think of a pink elephant" and the first thing your brain did was think of a giant freaking pink elephant.

Well Stiles' pink elephant took the shape of pretty much every dirty and/or lovey-dovey thought he'd ever had about the man standing in front of him while the other part of his brain screamed at him things like " _no, don't think about that dream where you were naked in the back of the jeep!_ " and " _stop picturing his claws digging into your hips!_ " and " _whatever you do, do NOT imagine holding his hand and walking along the beach you big girl!_ ".

Stiles hoped the darkness was covering the blush in his cheeks, but then figured the pungent scents he was surely giving off kind of made that point irrelevant.

"God dammit," he cursed under his breath and sank down further into his bed as he squeezed his eyes shut. "Can you just… go, now? Please? Let me die of embarrassment in peace?"

There was silence, but Stiles still didn't open his eyes, willing the floor to just open up and swallow him whole.

"I don't understand," Derek suddenly said. " _This_ is what you wanted the cream for? _This_ scent is what you were trying to hide from me?"

Stiles noted that Derek sounded more confused than angry, but he still wasn't ready to open his eyes and see the expression for himself. At least with his eyes closed he could pretend this was a dream for a while. Maybe.

"Well, obviously! I'm sorry, OK? If I could control it, I would, but I've tried everything and I just can't stop it," he admitted dejectedly. "I understand that you probably don't want to, like, hang out and stuff anymore – I get it, it's awkward. But-"

"Stiles," Derek said sternly, cutting off what was sure to be a long, rambling flow of awkwardness. "I already knew."

Wait. _What?_

Stiles' eyes flung open to gape at Derek.

" _What?!"_ he squawked.

"I've already caught that scent from you a few times, Stiles. You aren't exactly Mr Suave," Derek rolled his eyes. Stiles would even go so far as to say he looked _amused_.

"What are you talking about?" Stiles hissed. "This only started when I had a stupid dream a few weeks ago and I've been very careful to avoid you since then until I got that bloody cream!" If Stiles' arms weren't so mummified, he'd probably have been flailing.

"Uh, no. You actually smell at least a little turned-on _all_ the time, but I figured that was just teenage hormones and the fact that you're _you._ It wasn't until I started noticing it increase when we went for runs or at training that I realized it was directed at me. Plus, my nightly perimeter check includes stopping by your house, idiot. No one can ever accuse you of being _quiet_ …" Derek was actually looking smug. He was enjoying this! The asshole.

"I can't believe you freaking _knew_! This whole time! I didn't even know until that dream for fuck's sake! Why the hell didn't you say anything? And why did you pretend you didn't know what I was using the Draenic Lotion for?!" Stiles was incredulous and pissed-off beyond comprehension. Derek had been toying with him this entire time!

"I didn't actually know what the cream was for," Derek said calmly. "I thought you knew what scents you were giving off before, so when you started using the lotion I just figured there was something you were lying to me about, which made me angry and… hurt. Which is why I was so hard on you. You were always the one I trusted most and yet you'd started trying to deceive me and I couldn't work out why."

"I've never, _would_ never, lie to you like that."

"I think I know that now."

There was a silent pause that was both more and less awkward at the same time – and don't ask Stiles how that was possible, because he had no clue. It was during this moment of silent comprehension and analysis that Stiles realized something.

"Wait. So you knew I thought you were… _you know_ … and yet you didn't kick me out of the pack?"

Derek's eyes went wide in an instant.

"I would never kick you out of the pack! Once pack, always pack. You thought I'd…?" Derek actually looked shocked.

"Well, I just thought, I mean, it'd be awkward as hell right? Not just for you, but the others would be able to tell as well and… I don't know. Isn't that weird? Isn't it going to _be_ weird now?"

"You're always weird," Derek said straight-faced and Stiles rolled his eyes.

"I think this whole evening is mortifying enough for me to be suffering through, without you adding to it," he said, voice dripping in sarcasm.

"I don't know why you're so mortified," Derek stated and Stiles wanted to slap him across the head.

"Oh really?" The sarcasm was back in full force. "You can't work out why a very sexy alpha werewolf finding out about my unrequited desire for him would be even a smidgen embarrassing for me? _Really_?" Stiles gave him a 'you're a complete idiot' look, but that look soon came crashing down a second later when Derek spoke.

"I never said it was unrequited."

Stiles was glad he was no longer hooked up to the heart monitor so he didn't have to hear the embarrassing thing his heart had just done, even if he couldn't help Derek hearing it.

" _What?"_ he whispered in complete shock. Then he shook his head slightly and spoke at normal volume again. "You'd better not be fucking with me Sour Wolf, or I swear to god-"

Stiles never got to finish his threat because suddenly Derek's lips were silencing him with the softest kiss and he was suddenly completely unable to form coherent thoughts. He was pretty sure he'd broken his brain.

It was only when Derek's lips started drifting away from him way too quickly that Stiles' brain re-booted and he lunged up off his pillows to follow Derek's mouth and connect their lips back together urgently. He actually _moaned_ when Derek pressed back harder, but luckily for Stiles, his embarrassment limit for the evening had already been reached and he found himself not even caring.

Derek Hale was kissing him. He was _kissing_ Derek Hale. What the actual hell was happening to his life?

God, it felt good, too. Derek was as good a kisser in real life as he had been in Stiles' many dreams. Stiles didn't think he'd ever get enough of the feel of his lips or the taste of his tongue or the sensation of rough stubble against his skin. It had started off way softer than Stiles would ever have imagined Derek would be, almost like he was giving Stiles the chance to pull away at any moment (like _that_ thought ever entered his mind!), but the second kiss, after Stiles had chased his mouth back to his, had been much closer to what dream-Derek was capable of. It was hot and smooth and desperate and passionate and _caring_. It was the sort of kiss Stiles knew would remain embedded into his memory forever.

But all too soon, Derek was pulling away again and Stiles may or may not have panicked slightly at that and instinctively reached up to place his hands on the back of Derek's neck and pull him back down greedily.

Only problem with that idea, was that both of his arms were coated in a layer of plaster-armour and all Stiles succeeded in doing was bashing Derek upside of the head with his heavy cast.

Derek pulled away with an amused expression, eyebrow cocked at Stiles.

"Uh, my bad," Stiles said sheepishly, still completely overwhelmed and internally freaking out at the whole _kissing_ development to care much about anything else. Derek just smirked at him and Stiles melted a tiny bit more into a puddle of goo.

"I can't believe that just happened," Stiles blurted.

Derek didn't comment, but just sank down in the chair beside his bed instead, looking contemplative.

Stiles contemplated what Derek might be contemplating.

There was a lot of contemplation to be done.

One such thing to be contemplated struck Stiles suddenly and he had to ask.

"Wait. If you… I mean, if this thing was always… _reciprocated_ … why did you never do that sooner? We should have been doing that this whole time. We should be doing it more right now!"

"I couldn't- I was waiting."

"For what?!"

Stiles was extremely delighted to see Derek actually look _embarrassed_ for a second.

"For April 8th," he admitted.

Stiles grinned like a loon. "You know when my birthday is."

"81 days," he stated, slowly moving his hand to where Stiles' fingers were poking out from the end of his bandages and doing the best imitation of holding his hand as could be managed right then.

Stiles grinned even wider and snorted.

"This is unbelievable," he said more to himself than to Derek. Stiles thought about this new information and knew why Derek had planned on waiting until he was 18 to do anything about any of this. For one, it was kind of against the law and his father was the Sheriff. Stiles couldn't blame the guy for not wanting to get arrested again. And then there was the whole Kate-Effing-Argent taking advantage of 16 year old Derek and Derek not wanting any comparison with her or what she did. Stiles couldn't blame him for that either.

"So… why now then?"

"Well I didn't exactly plan this tonight. I came here to finish our argument about that stupid tube of poison and you decided to throw yourself at me."

"I did not!" Stiles exclaimed, but Derek cut him off.

"Plus, you keep insisting on throwing yourself headfirst into danger every chance you get and I was starting to worry you weren't going to make it another 81 days," he growled.

"Oh, you have such faith in me," he dead-panned. "So romantic."

Then he thought of something else.

"Wait. Does this mean you were giving off Hots-For-Stiles vibes this whole time too? Why the hell didn't Scott tell me?! Or Isaac?!"

"Have you _met_ Scott and Isaac? Those two can be so oblivious, the other day I watched Jackson tie their shoelaces together right under their noses while they were busy talking about kittens."

Stiles laughed at Derek's eye roll, playing with the tips of the wolf's fingers slightly and still feeling like he was having an out-of-body experience.

"Plus," Derek added with another smirk. "I don't make it as obvious as you do."

"Pfft. Jackson totally knew, didn't he?"

Derek narrowed his eyes at him in annoyance and Stiles laughed again.

"God, I feel so good right now. Even if I am all mummified and stuck in this god-awful place."

"Are you still in any pain? Derek asked seriously.

"Nothing you can't fix by kissing it better…?" he teased, fluttering his eyelashes comically.

Derek snorted and told him "you're an idiot", but then he leaned forward and kissed Stiles again until he was seeing stars and fireworks and cartoon birds and all those other very masculine things that manly men see when they get thoroughly kissed by a sexy werewolf.


	16. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

_80 Days Later_

"It's not your birthday until tomorrow. And you're still not completely healed. And your dad will kill me," Derek tells him, moving Stiles hands back to his own lap from where they'd been attempting to creep into Derek's.

"I'm healed enough! And Dad will never find out," Stiles rolls his eyes.

"Yes he will. He's the sheriff for a reason."

Stiles pouts.

"Urgh. Fine. One more day," Stiles relents with a sly smirk. "And then I'll be an adult and no one can stop me! Mwahahaha!"

"I'm not sure you'll ever be an adult," Derek teases. Stiles places his (now un-plastered) left hand to his chest and lets his jaw drop open in mock-incredulity.

They're snuggled up on the couch in Derek's apartment, Stiles with his back to the armrest and legs tangled up in Derek's lap. It's still _his_ spot on Derek's couch, only now they share it sometimes and Stiles definitely doesn't mind.

After that night in the hospital (that Stiles had since dubbed "The Best Night A Guy Could Have Without Taking His Cast Off", or TBNAGCHWTHCO for short), it had been a bumpy ride for everyone. Stiles and Scott had sat the Sheriff down and told him all about werewolves and the supernatural. Other than the yelling at them to stop being ridiculous, then Scott wolfing out in front of him as proof, quickly followed by his father hitting the floor when he promptly fainted, Stiles thought his Dad took the whole thing rather well. Much better than expected, anyway. After that confession, came the part about how nearly all of Stiles' friends were werewolves and that Stiles was a human part of a werewolf pack and that Derek was their alpha. The Sheriff took that one slightly better, but only after Scott explained that Stiles being pack meant the rest of them could keep an eye on him easier and protect him better (during which time, Stiles got offended at his best friend's reasoning and jumped in to tell his dad that he actually also _helped_ the rest of the pack too, not just get in the way and act like a damsel as Scott was making it sound). Following that came the real story about how Stiles had ended up in the hospital and why there was no need for his dad to hunt down an offender because the beast was already long-dead (not that a jail cell would have held a serial-killing werecoyote for longer than a nanosecond regardless).

After all _that_ , had come the confession to Scott that Stiles was ' _in feels'_ with one Derek Hale. And when Scott had simply turned to Stiles with a wide-eyed expression and silent treatment, Stiles had added "and I have it on pretty good authority that it's reciprocated", which caused his Dad to join in on the wide-eyed silent treatment too.

Neither of them had spoken or moved in a whole 30 seconds, so Stiles had filled the awkward silence with his trademark incessant babbling.

"But after all this intense stuff we've spoken about with werewolves and kanimas and magic lotions and dangerous beasts… this is nothing, right?! This is not even a little, teeny-tiny _drop_ in the ocean of things we should all be focusing on right now! It's no big deal at all. Let's go back to discussing the giant supernatural beacon that's drawing monsters to our town!"

His enthusiasm hadn't worked though. His dad was angry that he was possibly dating an older, dangerous, powerful alpha werewolf with a criminal background and Scott was angry that Stiles hadn't told him about it sooner.

It had taken Scott 2 weeks to come to terms with the new development. Derek had taken to only visiting Stiles in the hospital by sneaking in after visiting hours were over, leaving his dad and friends to keep him company during the day. Scott had sulked that Stiles would constantly be hanging out with Derek now and not him, so Stiles subtly reminded him of what had happened when Allison came to town and the roles were reversed. He'd then pointed out "do you see Derek here right now? Was he here yesterday? Or the day before? No. Because this is our time, stupid. So stop sulking and play snap with me." That had brightened Scott for all of about 2 hours before he suddenly noticed a new addition to the markings on Stiles' cast. Stiles hadn't known it was there either until Scott had pointed it out – Derek must have drawn it on while he was asleep – but once he'd seen the small drawing of Little Red Riding Hood and The Big Bad Wolf, he couldn't help the dopey smile that came to his face automatically and Scott had gone back to sulking.

Eventually though, after a couple of weeks of everyone having to listen to Scott's whining, it was actually Jackson who was finally able to make Scott snap out of it. Stiles wasn't there at the time, but Isaac had filled him in afterwards on the fight the two wolves had had. Apparently Jackson had yelled at Scott to stop being such a hypocritical ass-hat about the whole thing and it had resulted in a brawl once Jackson had accused Scott of being a shitty friend. Isaac had broken the fight up, and joined in with Jackson to list the reasons this whole thing wasn't as bad as Scott was making it out to be.

**SCOTT'S LIST OF REASONS WHY STILES DATING DEREK ISN'T SO BAD  
by Isaac & Jackson**

**1\. Being with an alpha gave Stiles more power within the pack dynamics, thus making Stiles happier.**

**2\. Having Stiles around more made Derek happier and when Derek was happier they were** _**all** _ **happier.**

**3\. Stiles convinced Derek buy them a games console for pack nights.**

**4\. Scott no longer had to feel as guilty when he cancelled plans with Stiles to spend time with Allison because Stiles was happy to spend time with Derek in the interim.**

**5\. Derek started letting Lydia and Allison join them for pack meetings as they'd all deemed it unfair to exclude their partners while Stiles was allowed to sit there making googly eyes at Derek the whole time.**

**6\. Scott should be grateful for the chance to make up for all the times he was a crappy friend to Stiles when he first started dating Allison.**

**7\. It was entertaining to see Derek blush when Stiles overshared or put his foot in it.**

**8\. They now had a pack-mom ('** _**not funny Isaac!')** _

**9\. Stiles was no longer drooling over Lydia (** _**'Shut-up Jackson!'** _ **)**

Thankfully, Scott had cheered up a bit after that. The main hurdle then was getting around the Sheriff. Stiles understood his dad's concerns, he really did, but honestly, he'd been battling supernatural monsters and dealing with so much stuff beyond comprehension for the last year or so that being grounded for a week for missing curfew by _10 minutes_ was beyond frustrating for him. And now that his dad knew about the whole werewolf situation, he was much more clued on to things like Stiles' bedroom window being left open and knowing it was virtually impossible to catch the two in the act due to Derek's super hearing, which meant his dad was _constantly_ suspicious.

The fact that his father kind of had good reason to be suspicious (because Stiles _was_ constantly trying to break the rules and sneak Derek into his room or sneak out of the house to go see him) was not the point. One day, approximately 6 weeks after TBNAGCHWTHCO, when Stiles had finally gotten his cast off and the tick of approval from the doctors on his healing progress (just the wrist left to go!), Stiles' dad had burst into his room (probably hoping to catch him groping Derek, but all he succeeded in doing was giving Stiles a mild heart attack while he was halfway through his homework) and told his son to invite Derek over for dinner the next night. Stiles probably wouldn't have been more shocked if his father had made the announcement in fluent Chinese, whilst wearing a kilt.

But he'd managed to calm his flailing down eventually and agreed, and the next thing he knew Derek was sitting across from him at his dining room table and all three of them were eating lasagne in tense silence.

"So Derek, Stiles tells me you don't work for a living," his dad had piped up.

"Oh my God, Dad," Stiles had groaned and slithered down in his seat slightly.

"Uh, no… no I don't work," Derek had admitted awkwardly, and a brief silence had settled again until Derek added a mumbled "but I do a bit of volunteer work sometimes."

Stiles' gaze had shot to him in interest. This was the first Stiles was hearing of any volunteer work.

"Oh?" his father asked, tone suspicious.

"I, uh, I coach an under 16's basketball team in the next town over on Sunday mornings. And… and I started a foundation in my family's name that helps out with a few hospitals, so that, uh… keeps me busy."

Stiles positively _beamed_ with pride and happiness. He had the _best_ boyfriend ever and his dad could go suck on a lemon!

Dinner continued a lot smoother after that when Stiles and his dad started asking Derek a tonne of questions about the kids and the work he was doing and Derek started easing into opening up a little once the tension in the air turned less hostile. After dinner, Derek had shaken the sheriff's hand and Stiles had walked him to the front door.

"That didn't go _completely_ terribly, right?" Stiles asked, smiling.

"No it didn't, but don't jinx it," Derek had told him back before Stiles leaned forward to place a kiss on his lips. It was meant to be just a peck goodnight, but Stiles could never control himself around Derek and soon there were tongues in mouths and hands in hair and on waists and 'Little Stiles' was even starting to stir slightly.

The sound of Stiles' dad clearing his throat behind them made them break apart instantly and then his dad was telling Stiles to go upstairs and he was leading Derek out to his car. Stiles waited nervously by the window, watching as Derek and his father spoke softly in front of the Camaro, wishing he had werewolf hearing and hoping no one was about to be punched in the face again. But eventually, Derek hopped in his car and drove away and Stiles sprinted up the stairs before his father could catch him peeping out the window.

The only thing Derek ever told him about that conversation was that he'd promised the sheriff he wouldn't commit any crimes. And Stiles was devastated to learn that included the ridiculous one regarding age of consent. So for the last 80 days, Stiles and Derek had done nothing more than make-out and keep their clothes on with Stiles groaning and calling Derek a goody-two-shoes and Derek groaning and calling Stiles an evil temptress.

But that's all about to change because today is Stiles' last day of being seventeen and his last day of being a virgin. He doesn't care that his wrist is still bandaged. The rest of him is A-OK and in working order and he's waited long enough to get his hands on this man.

"So what did you get me for my birthday?" Stiles asks Derek now with a grin.

"I told you, it's not your birthday until tomorrow," Derek replies calmly, his attention focused on the TV.

"You know, having Derek Hale as my boyfriend really hasn't lived up to my expectations so far," Stiles pouts. "Where's all the rule-breaking bad-boy behavior? Where's all the hot, crazy sex? Where's all the fangs and claws and " _I'm the alpha now_ " attitude gone?"

Derek just gives him a look. "Be careful what you wish for, Little Red."

"Oh I _know_ what I wish for," Stiles teases, leaning forward to bite Derek's earlobe. The werewolf swallows hard and Stiles knows he's getting to him now. "Are the kid-gloves really gonna come off tomorrow? Or have you just gone completely soft now? Should I go back to calling you Der-Bear instead of Big Bad?"

Derek's eyes flash red and Stiles smirks.

"Scary Alpha my ass, you're just a giant marshmallow. I don't think you've got it in y-"

Stiles never gets to finish his teasing sentence because suddenly he has been pulled onto Derek's lap in the blink of an eye and Derek's lips are devouring his neck and his hands are running up under his t-shirt, scorching hot against his skin. Stiles gasps and wriggles slightly so he's comfortably straddling Derek's hips and threading his hands through his hair. Stiles can feel the color rushing up his neck as Derek sucks bruises into his throat and he moans at the sensation.

They'd had some pretty intense make-out sessions in the front seat of the Camaro and even in Stiles' bed a couple of times, but they'd never had much time before school was starting or there was a beta on his way over, or the sheriff was due home. They'd never had the chance to let themselves completely delve into it like this, like they didn't really have a reason to stop.

Feeling bold, Stiles reaches down and tugs at the bottom of Derek's shirt, pulling it up quickly. Derek pulls away from Stiles' neck long enough to let the fabric be pulled off and Stiles marvels at the sight of his perfectly sculpted chest for a few seconds, before he's descending on Derek's mouth and biting at his bottom lip. The noise that emanates from the back of Derek's throat goes straight to the heat pulsating between his legs with need. Derek's hands grip Stiles' hips and the wolf bucks his own hips up to connect them together. The sensation that the friction causes pushes all semblance of cognitive thought from Stiles' brain. He is so consumed by the sensations that he doesn't even realize Derek has stood up from the couch until he is halfway across the room. Stiles wraps his legs around Derek's waist tightly, lips constant in their assault of Derek's mouth as they move quickly to the bedroom.

And then Stiles is being lowered to a mattress that is soft and smells inexplicably like _home_. Derek follows with his own body, pressing Stiles deeper into the bed. Stiles can feel him _everywhere_. His pants are being slid slowly down his legs without Stiles even realizing Derek has gotten his belt and fly undone. He kicks off his own shoes to help the process along, before pressing a hand against Derek's chest to push him up enough so that Stiles can pull his shirt up over his head too, craving skin-on-skin contact.

Even after nearly 3 months of getting used to the idea that Derek _likes_ him, that Derek is _his_ to look at and touch and kiss, Stiles still has those residual thoughts of ' _I can't believe this is happening_ ' and ' _this must be a dream'_. But as Derek stands to slide his own jeans down his legs and Stiles just openly stares at the man before him, he knows this is all real. Derek hurries back onto the bed, covering Stiles' body with his own and Stiles has the sudden urge to laugh that he just can't control.

"Stiles, why the hell are you laughing?" Derek stops his tongue's ministrations on his collar bone to frown at him.

"I'm sorry, I just-" he tries again to stifle the laughter bubbling up from inside him. "I find it funny that you waited all this time, but you couldn't wait another 6 hours."

"Do you have a problem with that?" Derek asks, raising an eyebrow at him.

"God no!"

"Because we can wait the 6 hours if you want," Derek says teasingly, making to lift himself off of Stiles.

Stiles panics, locks his legs around Derek's hips and rolls them over so he's pinning the wolf underneath him, somehow remembering to be mindful of his bad wrist at the same time.

"No," Stiles growls and forces his lips back down onto Derek's eagerly before he can protest. Stiles feels Derek chuckle into the kiss and reluctantly pulls away to tell him to shut up.

"You can't keep your mouth shut to save your life, can you?" Derek muses, nipping at his shoulder. "You were about to get your birthday present early and you just _had_ to comment about how I'd finally caved in to your torture."

"Firstly, it was _mutual_ torture, not just mine. And secondly, let's just forget I spoke and go back to the unwrapping of the presents," Stiles says, eagerly returning his mouth to Derek's and pulling at the waistband of his black boxers slightly.

Derek stills his movements by covering his hand with his own and pulling back from his hungry mouth.

"No, no, I think you make an excellent point there Little Red. If we gave up this close to the finish line, we may as well have not started the race altogether."

"No, no, no, noooo. _No_. Derek. We are so doing this. I _need_ you. _Now_ ," if Stiles wasn't so desperately starving for this, he'd be embarrassed by the begging. But he is _way_ past caring.

"Relax," Derek says, returning his mouth to Stiles' neck with long, leisurely kisses. "I didn't say" – _kiss to the throat –_ "we were stopping." – _kiss behind ear_ – "We just have to make _this" – slow, deep kiss on the mouth –_ "last for 6 more hours."

And that's the moment Stiles is pretty sure he dies. Because he doesn't think he'll last 6 whole minutes of this torture, let alone 6 more hours! But the thought of 6 whole hours of sexy times with this man? Well, his heart skips more than one beat and his insides melt into pools of hot lava in his belly and his brain turns to mush and his mouth opens to say _three little words_ , before he thoroughly devours the wolf in front of him.

"I hate you."

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles does last longer than the predicted 6 minutes, but… well, they decide to count that first round as a practice present. Everyone is allowed a practice present on their birthday-eve, right? As long as they follow it up with several proper presents on their actual birthday. No one else ever needs to know.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles knows Derek has given Deaton the Draenic Lotion to hold onto for safe keeping. Derek had told Stiles he'd destroyed it, but the younger boy knew the alpha would never get rid of something so rare that could one day be extremely valuable to them. Since Stiles wouldn't ever be needing to hide his scent or heartbeat from his mate again, he lets Derek think he's believed his story and doesn't get mad at him for keeping it from him.

The same way Derek lets Stiles believe he loves his meatloaf even though he feeds most of it to the stray cat that hangs around his apartment when Stiles isn't looking.

Which is also probably how he ends up owning a cat.

 

* * *

 

 

Don't get Stiles wrong, he's not saying Jackson isn't a douche (because he totally is and probably always will be), but he doesn't go back to being as horrible to Stiles as he once was. Not one to tempt fate, Stiles never outwardly asks the guy why that is, but over time he works out it's for three reasons:

**1\. Derek had made him -**

Apparently Jackson had said it was pretty obvious that Stiles was into Derek - that he'd had to have been _McCall_ not to notice, he'd said - but it wasn't until that day Derek showed up at practice, when he and Stiles were arguing in the stands, that Jackson realized the feeling was mutual. Jackson, being typical Jackson, had tried to use this knowledge to extort Derek and blackmail him into getting whatever he wanted.

Obviously, that hadn't gone down well and Derek made Jackson promise to lay off Stiles forever more.

**2\. Jackson was jealous -**

The new found confidence Stiles found once he'd started properly playing Lacrosse, and then after surviving the night of the Flint incident (which Stiles had since dubbed, This Ain't An Omega, It's A Psychopathic Serial-Killing Werecoyote Race - he loved Fall Out Boy references OK?), and when he started "secretly" seeing Derek (you'll notice the quote marks around the word "secretly" to reinforce the fact that Derek and Stiles thinking no one else knew they were dating for the 4 months following TAAO,IAPSKWR was absurd) had actually drawn the attentions of one Lydia Martin. Stiles and Lydia had become quite good friends and Jackson was actually worried Stiles was going to try to "steal his girl" (more quote marks for absurdity).

**3\. Hierarchy -**

Someone had told Jackson that in a wolf pack, the Alpha's Mate ranked higher than a Beta. Whether this affected Jackson's decision to be nicer to him out of _respect_ for that or out of some kind of _fear_ of that, Stiles wasn't entirely sure. He was pretty sure it was more a case of _'if I don't give Stilinski shit, he won't give me shit now that he out-ranks me_ '.

Luckily for Jackson, Stiles can overlook past misdemeanors, and never brings up the fact that when their roles were reversed and Jackson outranked him in the high-school hierarchy, he'd acted like a complete asshole.

Well... _almost_ never brings it up.

 

* * *

 

 

Sam asks Stiles one day whether he ever wonders why Agatha gave him that cream. Stiles tells him that he often contemplates the strange hippy-witch's motives. Why hand over something so rare and powerful without a catch? Or demanding something in return? Did she know Flint was coming after her? Sometimes he thinks she knew this would help him find his way to Derek. But then he realizes this would make her the fairy god-mother in his fairy-tale and he always thought fairy god-mothers were nice old ladies who brought hope and positivity to your life, not surly old witches who lived in dirty caves and smelled like feet. But then again, Derek doesn't exactly scream Prince Charming, and Stiles is no Cinderella.

Sam laughs at Stiles' comparison.

"I thought your fairy-tale was Little Red Riding Hood & The Big Bad Wolf? Maybe she's the grandmother who gets eaten by the wolf in the first place – so that Big Bad can meet Little Red."

"Oh my God!" Stiles exclaims. "I'm so using that in our wedding speech one day."


End file.
